


Who do you think you are?

by Millgirl



Series: Miranda's Sabbatical [5]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Family Bonding, Fluff and Humor, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-24 07:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21334372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millgirl/pseuds/Millgirl
Summary: Miranda and Andy and the twins prepare to go to Ohio for Thanksgiving. This story is the latest in my series of tales about Miranda's sabbatical year.. It follows Joy, The Making of Miranda, A Bang on the Head, and Pumpkin. Unexpected things happen, but one thing is sure, - I aim to finish it by Thanksgiving weekend! And I hope you enjoy the read.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Series: Miranda's Sabbatical [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1490903
Comments: 47
Kudos: 215
Collections: 32sk





	1. The Italian for "Kitten".

“Could I have a word?

The Italian teacher looked up from her computer, and focussed on the last of her evening class students to rise and leave the room at the end of their lesson.

“Si? How can I help you?”

It was the silent, scary woman from the back row who had approached her, the one who as yet had said nothing during the first four weeks of the class. Her expression was neutral now, but Senora Vicenti feared she was just the type of client to complain. She needed this work, and she couldn’t afford to have the students rate her down.

Elegant, beautiful, probably a wife to some wealthy Italian business man, the student had looked out of place in the community college to start with. Each week she had slipped in early for the class, sitting at the end of the back row, in her 5th Avenue clothes and her four inch heels. She had never volunteered to show any more interaction with the rest of the group, or their stumbling attempts at conversation. 

The most she had ever done was to nibble the frame of her glasses, and scribble a few notes on a vellum bound note-pad. She had looked profoundly bored as they had progressed through the numbers one to twenty, and directions to reach the railway station. Running through an Italian dinner menu had equally failed to excite her, as had the ways to introduce oneself to the parents of one’s fiancé. 

But she spoke now. “Yes, I think I may be in the wrong class. Is there an Intermediate Italian class anywhere on the timetable?”  
The teacher gave a little nervous jump. The woman’s voice was so low and musical, it took her by surprise, but she wondered just how much Italian this person actually did know, so she addressed her in the language, asking her why she thought she might be overqualified for Beginners’ Italian? 

Miranda decided she might play the same little game. She replied in perfect Italian and said, “Well, we started four weeks ago, and I have already finished your course book. I expect to go to Rome for Easter and need to be completely fluent by then, so I thought it best to take a more accelerated course if I am to achieve that.”

The vocabulary, verbs, subjunctive case, were all faultless. Miranda relented, because the last thing she really wanted was for this adult education teacher to feel a complete failure. 

She added, in English, “Please don’t worry. It’s not your fault. I just have a natural gift for languages, and a photographic memory for words. I’ve also been to Italy many times before in my work, so I’m probably not quite your usual student.”

“Well, I don’t offer intermediate Italian, but in your case . . . How would you like to have one-to-one sessions, where we could cover more ground very quickly, and maybe discuss Italian culture or current affairs? It would be good to have someone so motivated.”

Miranda smiled, and the teacher almost melted under the scary brilliance of her expression.

“That sounds perfect. If you can come to my house, I will send a car for you. I have young children, and don’t want to be out of the home unnecessarily.”

“Yes, how about $25 an hour? Would that be acceptable?”

“Perfectly acceptable!”

And so they arranged times and dates. 

That was how Miranda dropped out of Italian evening classes, and made a new friend. Andrea was highly amused, when she heard all about it that night as they prepared for bed. 

“Only you could buck the system, my love! Do you realise you might never know now how to ask the times of the trains from Pisa to Milan, or if the small boy really did place the book on the desk for his older sister to pass to the learned professor?”

“That’s fine, I can live with it. The class was a farce, but the teacher is an interesting woman who has agreed to come here instead. I thought we might read articles out of Italian Runway together and discuss them. You can join in if you like.”

“I don’t have your gift for languages, sweetheart, and I’m still trying to remember all the words in English for what I want to say!”

Andrea was gazing in the bedroom mirror as she ran her hand across the eight weeks of stubby growth which constituted her hair. She decided It made her look like a street urchin, but it might at least be long enough by the time they all went to Ohio for Thanksgiving not to scare her little nephews and nieces. 

Her memory of recent events, so disastrously missing immediately after she was mugged, was now more or less intact, but Miranda still played games on her. Pretending she had promised to do things she had no recollection of ever agreeing to, was one of Miranda’s favourite tricks. 

These ranged from the outrageous to the decidedly bizarre, and all centred on what happened in the strictly private zone of their bedroom between 11 pm and 6 am. As a result, Andrea learned more about sexual positions and scary bondage games than she had ever thought possible.

Not having enough to do with her brain these days was making Miranda suffer more from insomnia than usual, and she didn’t like to lie bored in bed at 2 am. when she had an Andrea to play with. She was a very imaginative woman, and she loved to tease.

She had pulled on some silk pyjamas now, for the night was chilly, and was snuggled into her side of the bed waiting for Andrea, who came towards her wearing boy shorts and a tee-shirt. 

“Honestly, can’t you wear something which doesn’t look like you’re just going out to play basketball?”

Andrea grinned. “You are the woman who destroyed my favourite jimjams, remember? Besides, I’m worried about Caroline’s cough. One of us may have to get up for her in the night.”

“My sweet little Mary Poppins. Come here then, and let me negotiate my way through all that appalling cheap cotton.”

Andrea laughed and allowed herself to be molested. Only when the tickling became unbearable, did she take the upper hand and smother her lover’s mouth with a French kiss. 

Her physical strength had thankfully returned after the concussion, and she was a powerful young woman. Miranda gave in completely, so much so that it was she who ended up sleeping naked all night, her wrists tied together with a silk scarf and her neck, and backside both branded with love-bites.

Early the next morning they both woke to the sound of Caroline in the music room above them. She wasn’t coughing any more, thank goodness, but had risen early and was vigorously practising her cello. She had improved dramatically in the last two months, and it sounded really good.

As they rolled against each other, Andrea had the good grace to untie Miranda’s wrists, along with a slight blush as she remembered what she had done the previous night. Miranda didn’t refer to it. 

What happened in the small hours always stayed there in her lexicon of bedroom etiquette. She just hoped Andrea hadn’t injured herself during their lovemaking. But her beloved girl seemed fine. 

Andy tenderly held both of Miranda’s wrists and kissed them each gently.

“I think Caroline is progressing as fast at the cello as you are with your Italian. And Cassidy and I are going to research ways for her to join the Girl Scouts in New York. She needs an outlet for all her energy.”

“Yes, they are going each on their own path these days, more than before. Cass is still doing very well with her piano playing, but I can see she wants to be outside in the fresh air more and more. Despite what I keep saying about ponies, I have thought of letting her take horse-riding lessons. There are places we can access.”

“Let’s see after we’ve been to Ohio. If she’s keen after riding our pony there, then a course of lessons would be a nice Christmas present for her. I wouldn’t mind funding those.”

“That would be nice. I am buying Caroline a cello of her own for Christmas, as I promised.!" 

Andy gazed across at Miranda’s beautiful profile. It remained a thing of beauty she never tired of observing. Miranda gave the little humming noise she did whenever she was thinking about something.

The proposed trip to Andy’s home to meet all her family and celebrate Thanksgiving with them loomed large in the Priestly family plans for the next few weeks. Miranda had mixed feelings about it, which she kept firmly hidden. They were half excitement, but also half fear of being judged and found unworthy by the Sachs’ boisterous extended family.

She was very keen to see Jenny, Andrea’s mother again, someone she would trust with her deepest secrets and who she truly loved and admired. But she was also conscious that Andrea’s father had not darkened their door since the start of their relationship. 

Even more alarming was the thought of meeting Andy’s four older siblings and their partners, and their children. This more than slightly gave her the heebie-jeebies. Then there was a grandmother who lived with them and whom Andy said she adored. That lady might veto their whole relationship. Her own experience of grandmothers wasn’t at all positive.

It was very strange, but since she had fallen in love with Andy, much of Miranda’s old arrogance and self-confidence seemed to have dissolved like melted snow. Her insecurities seemed to have multiplied in direct proportion to how much she loved her young and beautiful fiancée. It was hard to stay looking impassive and assured, when one’s heart was thumping, and one just felt unworthy on every level.

Andy, as she did so often, seemed to be able to read Miranda’s mind. She looked at her with adoration and whispered, “Don’t worry, darling. I can’t wait to show you the wonderful nothingness of rural Ohio, and my family will love you, and the twins. We’ll have a ball!”

“Have you made sure the flights are all booked, and still running? Are you sure the twins and I shouldn’t put up in a local hotel?”

“Of course the flights are booked, and Miranda, mother would have a fit if we even talk of staying anywhere but at home! She’s dying to see us all. Trust me, there’s nothing to worry about. Now I must go down and see to our new little Pumpkin kitten. He’ll be wanting his breakfast”

“What am I supposed to do then?”

Miranda looked forlorn as though she’d been hoping for even more love and attention.

“You, Madame, can get dressed. And if you come downstairs in ten minutes there will be scaldingly hot coffee waiting for you. Now, why don’t you practise saying that in Italian? Oh, and I’m sorry darling, but wear something with a high neck. It might be wise.”

Andrea disappeared, but just as Miranda had finished dressing, Cassidy came to find her, actually cuddling their newest family member, Pumpkin, the Hallowe’en kitten. He had recovered well in the few days he’d been living with them, and could now lap milk properly and manage a few spoonsful of kitten food. 

He walked across Miranda’s bed very confidently and made her and Cassidy both laugh as he disappeared under the covers.

Miranda’s nerves settled. Andrea loved her. Her daughters loved her. And the rescued kitten would survive and do well. She tried to remember the word for kitten in Italian as she and Cassidy chased him round the bed.

“Il gattino.” That was it. 

“Coffee’s ready!”

They could hear Andy calling up the stairs. Cassidy grabbed Pumpkin and as Caroline finished her music practice, they all went down to breakfast together. Miranda hugged both her little daughters and beamed at them. She had so much to be thankful for. 

“Why are you wearing that polo necked top, Mom? Won’t you be too hot?” asked Caroline. 

But her mother didn’t answer directly and changed the subject with a question of her own. 

“Your cello playing sounded beautiful this morning, darling. Is that a new piece?”

Andrea said nothing at all. She just stirred the oatmeal, seemingly deep in thought.


	2. The lady with the fat bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda rearranges her pictures and practises her Italian. The twins discover Andy has gazillions of brothers and sister and that one of her brothers-in-law is a football coach.

Sophia Vicenti had a glamorous name but a thoroughly mundane life. She had come to New York in the early 1980s from a small hill town in central Umbria, following a boy she’d always been keen on who had emigrated three years before. He worked in his cousin’s restaurant somewhere in the Big Apple, and urged her to join him in America, so she did, a spur of the moment decision she soon regretted. 

The restaurant was already failing and hardly generated enough income to keep its owner’s family, let alone the extended Vicenti cousins. Like a good Catholic girl, Sophia attended Mass regularly and became pregnant, not that there was any cause or effect in the two events. 

Now, twenty years later, in 2004, she found herself the mother of four noisy children, and the main breadwinner in their fractious family. Her marriage was sexually very disappointing, and she had taken steps some years earlier to ensure there would be no more kids. 

Her quarter of New York wasn’t glamorous, or full of beautiful people in high-end clothes. The street where they had an apartment could have been anywhere in central Europe. It was noisy, dirty and overcrowded with cheap cars, and small, generally failing Mom and Pop shops.

Her kids’ schools, while they were run by the Catholic Church, so a little better funded than the local public schools, were still overcrowded and under-resourced, and her husband, nicknamed “Spiv” for obvious reasons, had sunk from being an ambitious young chef to becoming a fat and lazy guy who flipped burgers for a living. 

Sophia, named after Loren, but sadly looking nothing like her, was a bright woman though, who decided to follow the old cliché about making lemonade out of lemons. She learned English fast, and in her forties passed a series of certificates to gain an adult education teaching credential in Italian. 

Her day job, managing the books for what was now only a small pizzeria, brought in less than the Beginners’ Italian she taught at the community college in lower Manhattan, and at another two venues in Queens. With the extra money the family just about scraped by. 

Now, following the unexpected conversation at the end of her class, Sophia felt something very wonderful was about to start. The enigmatic student, (“Call me Miranda,”) had exuded not just wealth and glamour, but something even more elusive, a portal into another universe. 

Sophia should have asked for more dollars an hour, she knew she should, but she had been too frightened she’d lose the chance of this private pupil. The woman was “sending a car” so her travel would be free, and every dollar counted. On the day of their proposed one-to-one lesson, she was almost sick with anticipation. 

Miranda, on the other hand, was not sick with anticipation. She was far too busy supervising the work team who were re-hanging her million dollar art collection. Her idea was to change every picture’s position, and re-energise her family’s appreciation of good art, now that the redecoration of the whole town-house was finally completed. 

“Why have you taken down every picture, just to rehang them somewhere else?” asked Andrea, obediently following her up and down the stairs, clutching measuring tape, a box of stickers, notebook and a red pen. 

“When artwork isn’t refreshed, people go blind to it. You tell me if you can, the pictures we have had hanging up the first flight of stairs!”

“Um, well, the one with the painted houses. That was one. And um, the little Picasso sketch of his daughter on a donkey.”

“Anything else. There were at least eight others.”

“Sorry, no, I can’t.”

“Exactly! Mind you, I know you’ve usually had other things on your wicked mind, climbing the stairs in this house.”

“Admiring your rear-view?”

“Hmm, chasing me up the stairs on more occasions than I care to remember.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it!”

“Sshh, Cara and the men are coming up from the basement with the other paintings. You should go and pick up Pumpkin and confine him to the kitchen. If he gets under their feet and makes them drop any of the works, he could cause a financial crisis here.”

“You know I do love you Miranda.”

“I am vaguely aware of that.”

“Good, well you can choose where all your pictures go, apart from those lovely naked women.”

“In the art world they tend to call them nudes, darling.”

“Those lovely women, which until now have been exiled to the top floor. I do remember those pictures perfectly clearly, and I want them in our bedroom. O.K? One of them reminds me of you.”

“Very well. I only hope you aren’t referring to the Rubens drawing. The twins used to call it “The lady with the fat bottom.”

She continued, “That’s a tiny picture but its subject isn’t. It’s the most valuable piece in my whole collection. Now, something else. Don’t forget I have an Italian lesson this evening. Can you supervise the twins’ homework session?”

“Sure, as long as I don’t end up doing their work myself.”

“Keep rubbing that in, why don’t you?”

“Always, until I’m convinced of your complete contrition.”

There was the sound of heavy treads on the stairs below, and muffled conversations. Andrea, the acolyte to the priestess, but also her supervisor in some significant ways, kissed her sweetly on the cheek, tweaked her immaculate platinum hair and gave her a cheeky pat on the behind. Miranda pushed her off, gently. 

“Pumpkin! Go! You know how he likes playing under the dust sheets on the carpets. He could cause an accident.”

“I’m going! I’m going.”

And Andy went. When she would get the necessary time to buckle down and continue with her own writing, she had no idea. 

Miranda loved having her at home, and kept urging her to return to her writing routine. But she was starting once again to constantly use her as an extension of her own brain and hands, almost like she had done at Runway.

She would have to do some persuasive negotiations to carve out her own time and some peace and quiet, without Miranda constantly interrupting her. The Italian lesson’s upcoming hour or two might provide the opportunity. 

Miranda had given Roy Sophia Vicenti’s address and he willingly drove off through the evening traffic to collect her from somewhere in Queens. Since Andy’s accident he had gravitated back into Miranda’s employment, as a secondary job for him, privately paid by her. 

His chauffeuring duties at Runway had somehow lost much of its pizzazz for him since Miranda had gone on sabbatical, and Nigel didn’t seem to mind him moonlighting. He didn’t use Roy nearly as much as Miranda had, but didn’t want to lose him to other publications in the group. 

Roy took Miranda’s Lexus now, found the obscure address, and conveyed a very tired looking, rather heavy Italian woman, dressed in her best clothes, back up town to the large brownstone town-house beyond the Park.

Cara had long since left to go home, and Cassidy and Caroline clustered round Andy in the kitchen, while the Italian session could be heard in the study. Miranda seemed to be doing most of the talking, which must be a welcome change for her teacher, not having heard a peep from her during the four previous hours she had been in the classroom.

“I’m so excited about Ohio,” said Cassidy, bouncing up and down like a pogo stick round the kitchen island. “Tell me more about your pony.”  
“Well, he is an old Indian pony, the sort they used to ride in the olden days, called a Pinto. He’s called Patches, because he's covered in brown and white patches, and he’s twenty years old.”

“Gee, isn’t that very old for a horse?”

“Yes, and No. Some horses can live to thirty, especially small ones. He was a present for my fifth birthday and I loved him more than anything else for the next ten years. But I outgrew him, and now he has a very easy time, just mooching round the barn, and occasionally taking my nephews out for a ride.”

“We had a great time horse-riding in the summer camp, but we only went out walking. I want to gallop. Can Patches gallop?” Cassidy asked hopefully.

Caroline was more interested in the humans they’d meet in Ohio.

“Tell me more about your family, Andy. Mommy says you have lots of brothers and sisters.”

“Well, that’s true. I have two brothers and two sisters, and three of them are married with children. Margot, my oldest sister is thirty. She’s a teacher, but she’s also a Mom with a baby daughter. Her husband is a sports coach. Then my brother is a doctor in Cincinnati hospital. He is married to someone called Brooke and they have two sons, Richard and Randell.”

“How old are they?”

“Richard is seven and Randell is five. We call Richard Ricky though.”

“Oh. We could play with them I guess. They are a bit young though.”

Andy smiled. She could see that Caroline was sizing up the possible dynamics of the forthcoming holiday house-party. 

“Don’t worry, the families I’ve mentioned so far all live nearby. They’ll just be coming round for the day.”

“Who else is in your family?”

“My brother Mike. He lives with his girlfriend Jamie, and they are lawyers, and they have a little son, called Bobby. They both work in Chicago, but they’ll be coming down for the weekend. But they’ll stay with Jamie’s folks, so again, just coming round for Thanksgiving Dinner.”

“Loads of people. Who else?”

“Hannah, my nearest sister in age is working in Japan. She isn’t going to be able to come home for Thanksgiving there unfortunately, but she’ll be coming later for Christmas. She might come to New York to visit with us then.”

“Then there’s your Mommy, Granny Jen, and do you have a Dad?”

“I sure do. He’ll be excited to meet you, I’m sure.”

Andy in fact wasn’t sure at all about that. Her father remained her biggest challenge in terms of accepting Miranda and her children as anything other than a malign presence in his youngest daughter’s life. His wife’s best efforts had so far failed to convert him to the idea that the whole situation was a positive development. 

“But there’s someone else who is also waiting to meet you both. My grandmother, who we all call Momma, lives with my parents. She’s Granny Jen’s Mom, and I spent a lot of time in her house when I was your age or younger. Like your Mom, mine had to work long hours, and so Momma helped raise me.”

Cass and Caroline, who had spent rather isolated childhoods without any visible cousins began to feel rather overwhelmed. Andy noticed their serious little faces and decided to lighten the whole dynamic. 

“I wonder how your Mom’s Italian lesson is going on. Why don’t we make some Italian style hot chocolate to surprise her when she finishes?” And the girls agreed, and fetched the necessary ingredients.

Despite appearances, Miranda had been doing quite well in her Italian class. Partly this was because she had organised its curriculum, and most of its subject matter. She’d helped Sophia out of her coat, and seated her in a big chair by the study fire. 

“You have to correct me every single time I make a mistake,” she’d instructed, immediately deciding she would have to run the class herself if its outcomes were to be achieved.

“I need conversational fluency. The grammar I can learn from a book, but the accent needs to be as pure as I can achieve it. I’ve always been frustrated that people know I’m an American rather than a native speaker. You’re from central Italy. Aren’t you?”

Sophia nodded, almost struck dumb by the commanding forthrightness of her new student. But she realised that if this was to work she would have to pretend to be more competent and confident than she was. The whole size and beauty of the house, the stylish interior with its fresh modern feel, and the immaculate style of its owner brought something out in her she had hardly felt in years. 

She yearned for such beauty, such elegance in her own life. She was almost too shy to look Miranda in the face, so fixed her gaze on her slim, but beautiful hands, with their manicured nails and soft fragrance. When she next went to the drugstore she decided to buy some lotion for her own work-weathered hands.

The woman named Miranda wanted Italian conversation. Well she could do that. She started to speak in Italian, and didn’t go back into English for the rest of the hour. In Italian, she was more confident, and could talk freely. 

She asked Miranda to tell her about the times she had visited the country and where she had visited. It was good practice for the past tense of various verbs. 

Then she said a few things about her own family and work and invited Miranda to do the same. Miranda concentrated on her career in journalism, and the many times she had attended Milan’s fashion week.

As they talked, Miranda stretched herself to widen her vocabulary and slowly the two women began to find common ground. The hour and a half passed quickly, and Miranda was stirred with a strange sense of empathy with the teacher. She wanted to help her with the struggle which was obviously her life, even though such feelings did not normally push their way through her brain. 

As Miranda showed her eventually to the front door, having summoned Roy to come at the appointed time, Sophia glanced sideways towards the kitchen, where she heard the sound of children laughing, and a young woman’s voice in reply. 

“My daughters and my fiancée,” said Miranda, reverting to English, and thus removing the clarity of her fiancée’s gender. “I’ll introduce you next week.”

Sophia thanked her, took the proffered cash, and hurried away. It was a little strange but she hadn’t heard any male voice in the overheard conversation. Who in the world would be fortunate to be the fiancé of this woman? 

She was carried home like a Queen in the large gold car, and stopped at the corner store to buy a little jar of Nivea hand-cream. She felt less tired and more cheerful than she had in a very long time. 

Back at the town-house, Miranda felt she had had quite a mental work-out, talking in Italian non-stop for ninety minutes. She sipped the silky richness of the Italian hot chocolate, and told her children how delicious it was. Then she gently enquired, “Homework all finished, I take it?”

“Oh, we completely forgot! Andy was telling us all about her family. Did you know she has gazillions of brothers and sisters and heaps of boy nephews?”

“Yes, and one of her sisters’ husbands is a football coach!”

Miranda simply replied, “Oh yes?”, and gave Andrea one of her intense silent looks.

Andrea gazed back. “Don’t worry, darling,” she whispered. “Diversity is the watchword in our family. You won’t be expected to cheer on any touchline.”

But Miranda wasn’t convinced. Her heebie-jeebies were in danger of returning, and if she wasn’t careful, might even turn into full-blown colly-wobbles. The trip was coming up far too fast for her liking.


	3. Julia Childs?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another trip to A&E for one of our lovely cast, and Miranda is thrown in the deep end.

Caroline Priestly stayed behind at school on Thursday afternoons for her cello lesson, so it was almost dark when she emerged into the late autumn gloom. Andy was waiting for her, as expected, sitting on a low wall just outside the gates. Caroline tried to wave, but holding her cello case in one hand and her school book bag in the other made it rather impossible. Andy came over and took the cello. 

“Hi Sweetie. Did it go well?”

“Sure. I have a new piece which Mr Hayes wants me to play with Cass on the piano as accompanist. He says we could do it for the Christmas concert.”

“Caro, that’s fantastic! You only started in September, and you’ve made a flying start.”

“Well you know what I am?”

Caroline giggled. 

They both said the word, “Committed!”

As they walked through the parking lot to the car, Caroline remembered. “Oh, and he also said there’s a man playing at the Carnegie Hall this weekend who we should go to see. Some famous cellist from Australia.”

“That sound well worthwhile. Do you recall his name?”

“Um, Charles something. You could Google it. Do you think Mom will come with us?”

Caroline still showed a slight hesitancy in expecting Miranda to support all her activities, and Andy regretted the child’s diffidence. 

“If you want to go, then we are definitely all going. Your Mom will love it!”

“Great. I would like to go. Can we book seats where I can have a good view of him playing, please?”

“Of course.”

Miranda was reassuringly positive about the idea of the recital on Saturday evening, and realised she hadn’t taken her girls yet to a full scale symphony concert either. They looked up the booking website, and read that while the famous cellist was doing a solo recital on the coming Saturday, on the following Tuesday he was also playing Dvorak’s cello concerto with a full orchestra. 

“Let’s get tickets for both concerts!”

“You coming too Cass?”

“Sure, that would be great. Andy, I’ve been thinking about Patches. Does he have a Western saddle, because I’m not so good at western riding with all the neck reining?”

“You, my darling, are in danger of getting obsessive about that pony,” chipped in Miranda. “Which ever style of riding they do in Ohio, don’t worry. I’m sure Andy will take good care of you, and keep you safe.”

Caroline sighed. “I like horse riding as well, I hope everyone realises. I won’t get ten minutes on the pony though if Cass is hogging him all the time.”

“There will be plenty of time for us all to go riding. We will be there from Wednesday evening through to the following Sunday afternoon.”

Miranda listened to Andrea’s comment which wound up the little dinner table dialogue. Four nights and four long days at the mercy of Andrea’s furious father, and seemingly dozens of manic football playing in-laws? There would be just too much testosterone in the air for her liking. She wondered how much of the time, she could hide in her room without appearing standoffish. 

Andrea broke into her gloomy thoughts. 

“Oh, Miranda, love, Mom called while you were out this afternoon. She said she’d love a chat with you. Can you call her back sometime this evening?”

Miranda served up the dinner of baked fish pie and winter veggies, which Cara had cooked, with a lighter heart. Jenny Sachs would set her mind at ease. She always did. 

They booked the tickets online for both concerts, and then Caroline and Cassidy went up to the music room to practise their newly assigned Nocturne for Cello and Piano. After the twins had gone, Miranda curled herself up on the large kitchen sofa and pressed the buttons for Jenny’s cell phone. 

“Miranda, how wonderful! I hoped you’d call back.” 

Miranda still found it incredible that Andrea’s mother liked her so much. Half of her brain still expected the worst, and that somehow this life, this dream would shatter, and she’d be expelled into some wintry kingdom of snow and ice where people would say she should stay, beyond the reach of normal human society. 

But Jenny had walked her through these crippling insecurities before, had taught her not to let them take over, nor to play the “dragon” game with people, frightening them to death before they could do the same to her. 

So now she attempted to be sensible Miranda, not crazy bitch Miranda, nor sarcastic, cynical Miranda. She knew Jenny would see through all her masks, so what was the point?

“Hi, Jenny, it’s good to talk to you too. We are all looking forward to visiting with you next week. The twins can’t stop talking about it. How are you anyway? How is work going?”

“Well, work would be fine, if I could get to it. I didn’t want to worry Andy unnecessarily, so I didn’t tell her, but yesterday I stupidly fell off a ladder and busted my ankle. I’m stuck here on the couch, with my foot and leg in plaster. It couldn’t be more awkward, especially with all the family coming home next week.”

“Oh No! Maybe we shouldn’t come then. You certainly don’t want extra houseguests with a broken leg. I am so sorry. We can easily cancel.”

“Woah, partner! Don’t you dare think of cancelling! No, what I was wanting to ask from you is quite the opposite. I know it’s a huge favour. I’ll do what I can from the side lines, but I wondered if you and Andy between you could possibly run the Thanksgiving dinner for me. I mean, like just cooking and serving it? I’ve seen how wonderfully organised you are, and what a good cook. . . “

At this point Miranda felt her eyes roll round in her head so far she was certain Jenny could almost see them swivel through the phone line. 

“Sure . . . “, she began, intending to continue her reply with “Surely anyone else in your home would be better than me at mass catering.”

But Jenny heard the single syllable as an enthusiastic assent to the plan. “There! I told Richard, you’d agree, that there’s nothing you can’t do. Bless you darling. We’ll get everything you’ll need delivered ahead of time.”

Miranda felt herself sinking beneath the waves. “How many are you expecting for the main dinner?” she managed to ask. 

“Oh, not so many, only sixteen plus Margot’s little one. And three of us are vegetarian, but I can tell you and Andy how to prepare what I have in mind. 

“Miranda, love, I can’t tell you how relieved I am everything will be in your hands. Andy has told me so often about the enormous galas and parties you’ve organised at Runway.”

“Well that’s rather different. I just hired caterers and recently, I’ve handed everything over to Andrea and my other assistant to organise.” 

“So, I know you’ll be a great team. Momma and I can help, of course, but my head seems out of it since the accident. Now knowing I can rely on you means I can relax. Thank you so much!”

Miranda realised there was obviously no escape. If she backed out, not only would she upset Jenny, but Andy’s father would take it as yet more confirmation that she was just a selfish diva. There was no way she could tell Jenny that for as long as she could remember she had taken the girls out to a restaurant for Thanksgiving Dinner, and that she had never once in her life stuffed a turkey. Oh well, either way, her doom was sealed. 

Miranda wound down the conversation, telling Jenny her bits and pieces of news, including how the three private Italian lessons she’d had so far had gone better than expected, and how they were all going out to a recital by a famous Cellist from Australia no one had heard of. 

By the end of it, she felt more than ready for bed, and as brain zapped as Jenny sounded herself. 

She went first to find Andrea. Unlike Jenny, she thought it was high time that lady’s youngest daughter did worry just a little. They could find out later if it was unnecessary or not!

“Broken her ankle? Oh poor Mom, she should have said. But hey, Miranda, did you tell her not to worry, that we could sort the Thanksgiving Dinner out for her, no probs.?“

Miranda decided to lie through her teeth in the face of Andy’s charming denseness. That she would ever actually volunteer to cook for sixteen people, when such an idea could only lead to a complete culinary disaster! 

“Oh, yes, of course I did. I’m sure you’re cooked many Thanksgiving turkeys in your time, haven’t you?”

Andrea had the nerve to grin, and then actually giggle. 

“To tell the truth, not a single one. When it comes to the kitchen Mom has always resembled you, she’s a complete control freak. Whenever I went home, my role was only to polish the silverware, and iron the table napkins. Pancakes and porridge form my core repertoire still.”

“What about your grandmother?”

“Oh she’s old school. Boil every vegetable until it’s good and mushy, and overcook the turkey until it’s crispy. I love her dearly, but she’s no Julia Childs.”

Miranda pushed her hands through her hair until it stood up in astonishment.

“What about the men in your family, your father? Can’t he cook?”

“You must be joking. Dad is one of those old-fashioned American men who live like a Bedouin sheik. He hardly knows what happens in a kitchen, let alone how to turn the oven on.”

“I can’t believe your mother has let him get away with that. She seems so very sensible, and strong minded.”

“She may be an unstoppable force, but Dad has always been an immovable object. Anyway, are you telling me Geoff, or Stephen ever took on cooking duties? It’s the last bastion of stone-age man, not being able to cook. 

“No, I’m really glad you offered to sort it, for Mom’s sake. You’re such a star. I’m sure the Sachs Thanksgiving Dinner this year will be like no other.”

Miranda reached for a hairbrush and began to remove the stiffening hairspray from her hair. She agreed with Andy’s final prophesy if nothing else. 

Then, as she took off her make-up, two reassuring ideas came into her head. She could consult Cara, their omni competent housekeeper, nanny, chief cook and bottle-washer, and then secondly, why not see if they couldn’t turn the whole dinner into a family pot-luck. 

All those professional young things coming could surely rustle up one dish each. Miranda went to bed feeling this might be a challenge she could perhaps rise to, after all.


	4. The art of delegation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda has a serious talk, with Pumpkin, and is shocked by what Andrea confesses. Good managers know how to delegate.

Andy woke early the following morning, and felt the fuzzy top of her head. Yes, her hair was definitely getting longer! She decided she was over the worst part now and fit to be seen in public. Having all her hair chopped off had been traumatic, but also liberating in a strange way. 

She felt the stronger for it, more of an adult somehow, and she hoped it might help get her exasperating father off his “My poor little girl” wagon. She couldn’t help but feel hurt that he still hadn’t come to New York to visit her since the attack, and his general silence was pretty deafening when it came to Miranda. 

He could have come. He could have buried his pride and his disapproval and made the trip to comfort her and help her when she was floundering through her memory loss.

Her Mom had been there like a shot. But Dad, Mr Big No Show! He claimed he had too much business in court. But that hadn’t lasted for the last six weeks.

She rolled over in bed, only now realising that she was alone. Miranda who normally lingered in bed these days for an early morning smooch was nowhere to be seen or heard. The shower was silent, so she must have gone downstairs. Andrea pulled on some clothes and followed her. 

Miranda was talking to someone very briskly, issuing commands and sounding as though she was making big plans. Andrea heard her in the kitchen and assumed she was on the phone. But when she went in, she saw that Miranda was just talking very seriously to Pumpkin, who sat on the kitchen top, his little paws arranged neatly in front of him and looking up at her as though he was taking in every word.

“I’m telling him he has to shape up. He’s missed his litter tray again and peed on the New York Times pages you put underneath.”

“Have you told him, he’ll be on his own for Thanksgiving? Cara has promised to come in every day to feed him, but I worry about him left all alone in this great big house.”

“He certainly won’t have the run of the house! He will be perfectly OK in the kitchen, and as you’ve said Cara is very good and will visit him regularly. He’ll feel much better here, than he would coming with us on the plane in a cat basket and having to meet all those strange Ohio cats and people.”

Miranda rather envied Pumpkin. Given half an excuse she would stay home as well. But the challenge of what she had started to call the “Martha Stewart assignment” was now settling inside her head, and she had made the decision to beat down her demons and enjoy the prospect of cracking it. 

Jenny was right of course. Miranda had organised huge events for the last twenty years, and was damn good at it. With Andy’s competent help, of course she could surely hack a simple family Thanksgiving. She quizzed Andrea over breakfast as to what the Sachs traditions were with regard to food.

“Turkey of course, mushroom and chestnut stuffing, homemade cranberry sauce, roast potatoes, sweet potato pudding, cornbread, cabbage and broccoli, gravy, biscuits . . . . “

“Hey, stop there. What about your Mom and the other vegans?”

“Mom normally makes a stuffed squash dish or something. She eats most everything else as she roasts the potatoes in vegetable oil. “

“And for dessert?”

“Always pumpkin pie. I do know how to make that. I like it so much I was motivated to learn. It has lots of eggs in it though, so Mom makes her own version with apple sauce.”

“And Jenny has always done all the cooking on her own?”

“Well, “Andy did look a little embarrassed. “We always kind of let her. She is the Mommy."

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

“We did do the clearing up afterwards, stacked the dishwasher, you know . . . “

Miranda gave Andy one of her best “Miranda” stares, and was pleased to see a slight blush of shame across those beautiful cheeks. 

“Yeah, I get your point . . . Well, how can we do it differently this year? 

“You have at least eleven adults sitting down to eat, so let’s divide the tasks into equal sections, especially any dishes which can be prepared ahead of time and reheated.”

“We could simply buy stuff in from a local caterer . . . “

“No, I am not having your mother say I am chickening out of this. Anything Ohio can do, New York can do just as well, and this is a family celebration, no?”

“Yes, but they are all busy, with full time jobs.”

“Doesn’t your Mom have a full time job with huge responsibilities as well? How has she managed all this time?”

“Yes. I am getting your point, Miranda, OK. In fact it’s poking me in the ribs right now. I’ll get a large sheet of paper, and make a start. Then we can start calling the family and seeing who might do what.”

When Cara returned, having run the twins to school, she found Miranda and Andy’s master plan covering most of the fridge, secured with little picture magnets. Miranda had shouldered the responsibility for the main frame of the turkey and its stuffing, but the other side dishes were allocated, one to each sibling, with a salad item as well to create the starters. 

Only the fresh veggies remained, and Miranda was sure she could draw on Jenny and her Momma to lend a hand with some paring and chopping. She was determined to get Andy’s father to contribute in some way, even if it was only carving and passing out the turkey. 

Andy then bit the bullet and started emailing round people who were in work, and calling her sister Margot, whom she knew would be at home on a Friday. Margot was pleased to hear from her, and agreed it would be much fairer to share out the food preparation. 

“I’ll make the cornbread, and Connor can whip up a batch of biscuits. He likes baking."  
Andy gave a mental high-five. This was football coach Connor whose hands didn’t obviously look like those of a fancy baker.

“Thank-you guys. How is your darling baby?”

“Rose-Marie Jennifer is thriving. She’s nine months and is looking forward so much to meeting her aunty Andy again soon. She hasn’t met you since you came home to see her in March when she was only a week old.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. It’s been a manic year.”

“Hmm, and Mom tells me you are now engaged!”

“I am, and deliriously happy. Margot, I so want you to like Miranda. You will meet her halfway, won’t you? She is a gorgeous person, but well, she can come across as a bit . . . “

“Yes?”

“Maybe a bit metropolitan, if you know what I mean”

“Like she puts lipstick on to empty the trash?”

That was a wild guess, but Andy couldn’t argue with its accuracy.

“I adore her, that’s all you need to know, and Mom really likes her as well. It’s Dad who worries me. He hasn’t darkened the door since I moved in here.”

“Our father has a turnip for a head, that’s all one can say. I think he’s probably disappointed you won’t ever have kids if you marry a woman. He’s all over Rosie, and is being the perfect Grandpa. It’s the patriarch thing.”

Andy let herself be comforted and they ended the conversation, but Margot’s comment troubled her. Did marrying Miranda mean that she wouldn’t ever have children of her own? She adored the twins, but she had always thought her life would include bearing her own children. Even Miranda had mentioned it once or twice as something they should think about. It was a big thing to discuss, but for now, at least it could be postponed. They weren’t even married yet.

One by one, her list of jobs to be assigned could be ticked off. Mike and Jamie would bring a load of potatoes peeled, oiled and prepped for roasting, and Jamie said her own mother’s recipe for gravy was world renowned, well in their section of the city at least, and she would make that. 

Cara looked at the proposed menu with a critical eye. 

“Good thinking. You seem to have covered most of the bases. The twins and I will take care of the cranberry sauce, and you can take it along frozen in a zip lock bag. Cooking a big turkey is simply a matter of arithmetic. As long as it’s fresh or properly thawed, it’s just twenty minutes to the pound and thirty minutes at least to rest after it's come out the oven. So a 15lb bird will take 5 hours.”

Miranda thought about her responsibility, the turkey and the stuffing. She had never stuffed anything, and always left any stuffing she encountered firmly on the side of the plate. You didn’t keep your weight to the level she preferred by stuffing in stuffing. 

Later that evening Sophia arrived for their fourth Italian lesson in two weeks, gallantly collected as usual by Roy, and bringing under her arm the copies of Italian Runway Miranda had lent her to read. She looked younger, brighter, and much less weary somehow. She had been to the salon and had auburn tints put into her hair, and had had a manicure as well. She even looked a little less chunky.

Miranda felt rather guilty. It was good Sophia was making a bit more of herself, but she didn’t want her squandering her hard-earned teaching money on treatments just to follow Miranda’s own extravagances. 

While Cara was in the kitchen, talking to the twins about their new project of making the best cranberry sauce in America, and Andy was far away upstairs writing her novel, Miranda outlined to Sophia her challenge of the Big Feed. 

Sophia looked her up and down and said confidently in Italian, “There were always twelve round my parents’ dinner table and I can show you how to make it special. I have a stuffing recipe with truffles, but you can make it with porcini mushrooms. If you like I will come on Wednesday morning and show you. I guarantee all your people will think it is delicious.”

Miranda beamed. Who needed to have a Cordon Bleu qualification when you had talented women friends? They then opened the Italian Runway copy together and Sophia started asking her about how one produced such a magazine? How difficult was it, to be an editor? Did you get given lots of lovely clothes? 

Miranda was on home ground, and because the magazine in front of her had not been her responsibility felt free to chat about all the ways she would have made it better. When it came to anything related to being an Editor in Chief, Miranda could talk all night.


	5. Such sweet sounds . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda and the family go to Carnegie Hall.

The last Friday before Thanksgiving was very special to Caroline Priestly, as she explained to her father during one of their weekly phone chats.

“We’re going to a real recital at the Carnegie Hall tonight, to hear a man play the cello. My teacher recommended it. He says it will show me what to aim for! And Mommy has booked tickets for next Tuesday as well, to go to a whole symphony concert! The same man will be playing a Cello concerto.”

Her father made a suggestion. He hadn’t seen his little girls in more than a month, which was too long. 

“What, you’d like to come down for the Tuesday concert as well? That would be so cool, Daddy. . . . 

“Yes, I know we won’t see you for Thanksgiving, but we can come up to your place for the weekend after, and I want you to come to our school Christmas concert. Cassie and I are probably going to play a duet for cello and piano.”

“O.K. I’ll tell Mom. Here’s Cassie . . . “

Cassie grabbed the phone and breathlessly brought her father up to speed with their new kitten and her new membership of a Scout troupe in Manhattan. Andrea had taken her for a meeting with the leaders, and Miranda had undertaken some discreet research into the suitability of the troupe.

She didn’t like to think of herself as a complete snob, but she wasn’t at all keen on the idea of her ten year old being left in the care of absolute strangers she hadn’t vetted. Several girls from Dalton’s School also belonged in the same company though, so it couldn’t be all bad, even though Girl Scouts would be yet one more commitment in an already overcrowded weekly calendar. 

Miranda was beginning to realise that now the twins were pursuing some different interests from each other, the car-ferrying and collecting would get very complicated. She felt so fortunate to have two excellent helpers in Andrea and Cara, but how Sophia Vicenti coped with four teenage children, she couldn’t imagine. 

At least, four of them, Andrea, the twins and her, were all going out together that evening. It was manageable, and was just the sort of cultural evening she most enjoyed. It was amazing that her babies were now old enough to come out with her for a whole evening concert.

“Come along girls! Tell your father I’ll talk to him tomorrow. We must go!” 

. . . . . . . .  
Charles Anderson rarely focussed on any individual audience members when he gave a recital. Like so many true musicians, once he was in the zone it was just him and his instrument interpreting the music to the best of their ability.

If he had any really close personal relationship it was with his cello. Everything else was peripheral, even his friend and long term travelling companion, his accompanist George Prescott. Tonight they would work together to delight and enthral the musical glitterati of New York. 

Charles wondered just how appreciative the audience would be tonight. As he stood in the wings, holding his beloved instrument, he suspected that some of the people waiting for him had paid hundreds of dollars to hear him play just because it was “fashionable” to do so.

The lights dimmed, the applause started, and he went forward to begin yet another recital. He had a few seconds to complete a tune up against George on the piano, and his eyes fell on a small girl sitting in the front row, just to his right. In fact there were two small girls, both with extravagant red curls. Twins obviously! How amusing. The first child caught his eyes, and just gazed into them intently. He decided tonight he would play for her. 

“Sshh, do try to settle down, Cassidy,” whispered Miranda, feeling the energy of her nearest daughter almost bouncing off the seat beside her. “Look at Caro, sitting so still. Let’s not do anything to disturb the performers, shall we?”

The music started, and Miranda sat back and closed her eyes. It had been a packed week, and as the sound of the cello sonata washed over her, she felt the restorative power of good music revitalise her. 

They had secured almost the best seats in the house, partly because Miranda was a supporting patron, though she had not had time to attend any concerts in person since the previous winter. Runway had taken every ounce of her strength and every second of her time until Andrea had suddenly bounced into her heart and effectively tossed her completely off the treadmill.

She still couldn’t believe they were together, or that her life, even for this one precious year, was so different from the time she had last been here, listening to an evening of operatic arias with Stephen. 

She remembered how quietly furious she and her ex-husband had been with each other that night. He was bad-tempered because she was late, as always, and so had made them miss the pre-concert drinks reception where he had wanted to mingle with the stars of the Opera. She was equally angry because he was boorish, and already boozed up on vodka martinis before the concert even started. It would have been actually embarrassing to have been forced to introduce him as her husband.

This time, the circumstances were so different, she felt she had entered a new world. Her mind came back into focus in the present. She looked up at the stage. The cellist was good, really good. She was grateful to Caroline’s teacher for recommending they come. Judging by her shining eyes and rapt expression, she was thoroughly enjoying it too. 

Andrea was sitting the other side of the two girls and enjoyed watching the cellist and the pianist as they played with and around each other. The first half seemed to fly along, with a series of show stopping pieces, and while not designed to be child friendly as such, the music showed just what the cello could do. 

Andrea was surprised what high notes could be reached on the instrument. The music soared. When the players stood and received a huge round of applause, Caroline had to be almost woken from what seemed to be a trance. 

They stood up to stretch their legs, and maybe look for a drink.

“You obviously enjoyed it, then?”

Andrea grinned at her little companion.

“It was . . . amazing. I’ll never, ever be able to play like that!”

“Don’t be too sure. Practice makes perfect, like they say, and you’ve already made a great start.”

She knew Miranda would not approve of any of them joining the queue for ice-creams or anything so plebeian, so she pulled a discreet bar of chocolate from her pocket and passed squares out among their party. Miranda rolled her eyes, but didn’t say “No.” 

Andrea smiled and remembered the first time she had fed her goddess chocolate squares. As she caught Miranda’s eye, and watched her bite into the chocolate, a wicked grin passed between them. So Miranda remembered as well.

They talked to the girls about the programme, and discussed what was coming up in the second half. Charles Anderson would be performing some solo cello pieces, it said, some Bach from the cello suites, and then a very modern piece. Just as they were retaking their seats, an usher came across and whispered something to Miranda, whom he knew by sight already. 

She nodded, and then turned to her three companions. “It seems Caroline’s absorption in the music and her good behaviour has had its own reward. Mr Anderson has asked if we would like to meet with him after the concert, back stage.”

“What! Oh Jeeze!”

“Language, Caro! But yes, it’s a great honour I’m sure. Now, both of you, do sit still. He is coming on stage now to begin the second half!”

By the end of the concert it was obvious that the musician had a new totally devoted little fan in Caroline. Cassidy had enjoyed it all as well, but had followed the pianist as much as the cellist. It was late for ten year-olds, and she stifled a yawn, but they were all excited to be escorted back stage to the green room where the players were packing up their music and instrument. 

Charles came forward, and shook Miranda and Andy’s hands. He was a tall, sensitive looking guy, with white hair and sun-tanned face, and very bright blue eyes. Andrea thought how elegant his hands looked, musical hands with long fingers. 

He addressed his remarks to the children, and said to Caroline. “I noticed you watching me very intently. Did you enjoy the concert?” His accent was definitely Australian.

“Oh yes, it was wonderful.”

Miranda added, “My daughter has just started to play the cello. It’s her first semester, but her teacher says she has made good progress. Both girls also play the piano.”

Miranda, who could be a tiger Mom when it came to the twins, didn’t want to appear too boastful in the presence of such a real musician.

“How old were you when you started?” asked Caroline, keen to know if she had any chance of becoming a professional player like him.

“I was eight.”

Her face dropped. “I’m ten already, but I am committed. Mommy is buying me my own cello for Christmas. I have to use one from school at the moment.”

“Well, ten is a good age to start too. I think you’ll do splendidly.”

“We have tickets for your concert next Tuesday,” said Miranda. “In the same seats. We’re looking forward to that too. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet us. Caroline is so excited.”

“Yes, George and I are going down to Washington to perform over the weekend, but we’ll be back on Tuesday. I will look out for you in the audience certainly.” 

Cassidy had drifted off slightly and was engaged in a deep conversation with the accompanist, who seemed just as pleasant and friendly as his partner. 

Andrea meanwhile watched Miranda and Charles Anderson talking together, and there was something about them, the way they unconsciously mirrored each other, and the manner in which they stood and moved which reminded her of people who fancied each other. It was almost as though Miranda was mimicking the Cellist. She was definitely reacting to him differently from the way she normally dealt with people, especially men. 

But it was late now, and the musicians were ready to quit the Concert Hall and return to their hotel. Miranda knew the twins were up far past their bed-time, and even though the next day was Saturday when they could sleep in, she needed to get them home. So they all shook hands and parted at the stage door.

As usually happened, she and Andrea chatted about the evening’s events, the concert and meeting the musicians, as they later lay in bed with the lights turned down low.

Andy said, somewhat cautiously, “Wasn’t he kind, to agree to meet Caroline? He must have been very tired at the end of that recital.”

“Yes, though adrenaline takes you forward. It will be after midnight before either of them comes down tonight. I know the feeling, after the big galas and fashion events. The cellist is a consummate performer, but I think he is quite solitary underneath. Quite a private man.”

“Maybe we could ask him round the next time he visits New York. It would be good to get to know him better. They tour all the time, so I expect he’ll be back. You two looked good together, by the way.”

“Not marrying me off, darling, are you? Remember you and I are engaged to each other!”

“Like I’ll forget that!” Oh and sweetie, I know what I’d like at our wedding reception. . . “

“Hmm?”

“A chocolate fountain. As a reminder of our first night together.”

“You are impossible. I don’t know why I bother with you.”

“I’ve heard you say that before, and I think you do know the answer. . . Goodnight honey.”

“Goodnight my love. Sweet dreams.”

Andrea lay in the dark, hating the little niggle of jealousy which had crawled inside her, and encouraged by the very words Miranda had used. “Not marrying me off are you?” God, it was as though she could read her mind. 

She turned to face Miranda’s slim back, and wrapped her arms round her from behind, holding her close. 

“Mmm, nice,” Miranda took her arms and wrapped them closer.

Andrea gave her another squeeze, but Miranda was already asleep, her mind, not on any Australian cellist, but on giant bowls of stuffing, swallowing her whole.


	6. A modern family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff tells Miranda a secret, and Andrea bakes some pies. Well that's the start of the chapter anyway!

It was Monday morning. Miranda listened to her phone, and sipped her coffee between sentences.

“So you’re coming down to New York just for the concert?”

“Well, I can make it a business trip as well. I have a couple of clients I need to see.”

“Putting it on expenses then?”

“Miranda, don’t be like that! You know I love our girls and I haven’t seen them for weeks.”

“They’ve been here all the time. You could have easily arranged to pick them up.”

“It’s not been easy. I’ve been meaning to tell you, and please don’t tell the twins yet, before I get the chance. But Cindy’s expecting.”

“What! Geoff, you’re fifty-five years old. Haven’t you learned about birth control yet?”

“Of course, but Cindy is crazy about babies. This was her choice. She doesn’t want to wait any longer, and of course as you say, I’m not getting any younger.”

“When is the baby due?”

“Not till May, but she’s been very sick for the last eight weeks, throwing up all the time, like I remember you did.”

Miranda remembered as well. She couldn’t help but feel a modicum of sympathy for her first ex-husband’s girl-friend.

“May next year is when Andrea and I are getting married.”

“Should we make it a double ceremony then?”

“Not funny, Geoff. If you want to take the plunge, yet again, well I suggest you get on with it. Cindy is unlikely to want to tie the knot looking like she’s about to drop the child.”

“I haven’t proposed yet.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just tired of getting married. Even with a child coming. Cindy is obviously waiting for a ring though, and her mother even more so.”

“Well, babies are a game-changer. You must decide for yourself, but Cindy has to take responsibility as well. She hasn’t simply got pregnant to push you up the aisle?”

“No, anyway, keep this quiet, please. I will tell the girls before they come up to Boston. So, can you book me a ticket for the concert, and for the Christmas concert next month? I’ll meet you in the foyer tomorrow evening.”

“All right.”

“And then you’re all hightailing it off to Ohio for Thanksgiving, I hear. That will be fun, just your sort of thing.”

“How well you know me, Geoff. Actually I am in charge of all the cooking as well. Andrea’s mother has broken her leg and is on crutches.”

“Amazing! Should I send them all vouchers for Kentucky fried Chicken?”

“Now, don’t mock, Geoff. The secret to good cooking is simple arithmetic, or so I’m reliably informed.”

“Well, you know how to open the calculator on your IPhone, I hope. ‘Bye Martha. See you Tuesday!”

“Bye Geoff.” 

Miranda put the phone down and met Andrea’s quizzical gaze. 

“Was that about what I thought it was?”

“Yes dear, ’fraid so. The twins are going to have to deal with a new half-brother or sister. Really, Geoff is so irresponsible! He’ll be seventy before the child has finished High School, if he even makes it that far.”

Andrea was measuring out pumpkin puree, and paused. “So do you think we’d be irresponsible if I wanted a baby?” It was such an important question, and she felt very scared about Miranda’s possible answer. 

Miranda saw the fear in her eyes, and walked round the kitchen table to embrace her. “Darling, of course not! I believe we would be irresponsible not to have more children! You will be such a wonderful mother, and I intend to be as fit at seventy as I am now. I want you to have as many children as you want, when you want. There is just the tricky detail of finding a donor.”

Andrea felt so relieved she could sing. She laughed instead though and said, “Well, who do we know? Nigel? Irv Ravitz? ”

“Don’t even go there! Though it’s a fair point. But far too much to think about on a Monday morning. You finish your pies, and I am going to phone the Carnegie Hall box-office. Not a word to the girls though, about what you overheard. Geoff has to tell them himself. I promised.”

“Of course.”

And Andy went back to her pumpkin pie making.

The pies, when they emerged from the oven, impressed everyone in the house, especially with the lovely spicy nutmeg and gingery smell which pervaded the kitchen. Miranda was especially complimentary. She looked at the perfect crust with envy. Andrea never ceased to amaze her.

“Will they keep until Thursday?”

“Sure, I’m going to put them in the chiller and finish the cream topping when we get home. I’ll pack them carefully into a tiered cake container.”

“I do need to call your Mom, to explain how we’ve sent out instructions so she doesn’t need to order in so much food. I also want to include your father in our great scheme of things. Do you think he would be up to opening some bags of potato chips and putting them out for pre-prandial snacks? Or what about spearing pineapple chunks with toothpicks?”

“That’s sounds really retro!”  
“Well, from what I gather, he is living in the 1960s. Pineapple chunks were all the rage when I was a child.”

“You are funny.”

“I know. Come here and kiss me.”

“All right.”

. . . . .  
The twins were so excited about going back to the Carnegie Hall for a real live symphony concert, it was like trying to control jumping fleas as they piled into the car. The huge building had overawed them the previous Friday evening, but then they had been seated in the smaller recital hall. Now they were going to be in the main massive auditorium. 

Miranda tried to explain what a symphony was while Andrea drove the Lexus. “The first half of the concert will be Tchaikovsky’s 5th symphony. That just means he wrote four before it, and it’s in different sections called movements, some fast and some slow. It’s very exciting, especially at the end. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

“And will Mr Anderson be playing in it?”

“Oh no, he’ll be resting behind the scenes, waiting for his Concerto.”

“So what’s the difference between a concerto and a symphony?”

“A concerto showcases one solo instrument, playing in front of the whole orchestra who support the soloist. They normally only have three movements. This concerto is by Dvorak, who came to America from a country which used to be called Czechoslovakia”

“Will Mr Dvorak come to listen to his concerto?”

“No darling, he died a long time ago.”

“Lots of famous people are dead.”

“Yes dear, you often have to have died before people appreciate you.”

“I appreciate you Mommy, and Andy too.”

“Thank you my love, and there’s no need to worry. Neither of us is going to die for a very, very long time.”

This conversation was getting rather too heavy for Andrea who turned down into the parking lot for the Carnegie Hall with some relief. 

“Let’s just all enjoy the music, shall we? It’s going to be a great concert.”

The twins spotted their Dad standing at the bar, and ran over to receive a big hug each. 

“Still growing like weeds, I see!”

Miranda followed them over and passed him the ticket she had collected at the office on the way up. She noticed he had a double whiskey already in his hand and wished she didn’t always worry about him so much. They had been divorced eight years, and if he chose to ruin his health that was his business, but she really didn’t want her children to lose their father prematurely, and now this new baby, it should mean he must try to sober up and fly right. 

Andy came up behind her. Miranda had chosen her outfit for her, as she had resorted to doing since they had begun living together, if they went out anywhere in public. As a result, Andy looked more regal than ragamuffin. 

“Hi gorgeous,” Geoff’s eyes crinkled with pleasure at the beautiful girl as she joined them. At least Miranda had good taste. Both women looked headturningly handsome. “I like the new look. How is the memory coming along?”

“Hi Geoff, it’s almost back. I can remember your visit to us at the cottage in September in glorious technicolour. How have you been since?”

“Oh fine, just busy, you know. Now, molluscs, tell me all about this guy playing the cello. Is it really true he asked to meet you behind the scenes last Friday evening?”

They chatted on and waited while he tossed back his drink and then they all walked down to the front stalls together. Both Cassidy and Caroline hung on their mother’s arms but also pulled their father into the group. 

This was such a rare treat, to see both parents together in public, and so cool that he and Andy were friends as well. They wished it could always be like this.

If only that pesky Cindy wasn’t always hanging about him up in Boston. They had talked together about ways to get rid of her on several occasions, in words which would have shocked all the adults to the core if they’d been overheard. 

But the girls knew disposing of Cindy wouldn’t happen. Even at ten, they were coming reluctantly to realise that adults rarely did what you wanted them to do. Their Mom’s choosing Andy to be her girlfriend was a fantastic exception to the rule that divorces sucked. Mom divorcing Stephen and inviting Andy into the home instead was the best thing she had ever done. 

As the audience filled up the hall behind them, Cassidy squeezed her father’s hand. It was going to be a great night out. 

Miranda was astonished at the end of the amazing performance of the Dvorak cello concerto, to receive yet another little note through the usher inviting her and her whole party back stage to meet Charles Anderson. The girls were so hyped up and overtired they were almost hysterical and she wondered if it was wise to expose poor Mr Anderson to their extravagant enthusiasm. But to refuse would be impossibly rude, so she shepherded Andy, Geoff and the children together and they followed the man across the front of house and through the side door into the nether regions of the great concert hall. 

Mr Anderson was alone, not having needed his accompanist this time, and was sitting quietly and lovingly wiping down his Cello before putting it away in its case. 

This time, Miranda decided to introduce Andy properly as “my fiancée”, and then brought Geoff forward as “My ex-husband. You see, we are a modern family!”

Charles smiled and didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by these introductions. “I’m so happy to see you here again. By the look on your daughters’ faces can I take it they enjoyed the evening? ”

“You were wonderful!” breathed Caroline. “I am going to practise for a hundred hours a day until I can play as well as you.”

“You mustn’t overdo it, just play when you want to, and stop when you feel tired. The key thing is to practise in the right way, focus on one bar at a time, until it sounds just as you think it should. At your age, music should be fun. I wish I had had more fun when I was a child.” 

Mr Anderson spoke quite softly, so Caroline had to lean in to catch exactly what he was saying. His face was very kind though, but thin. 

Andrea compensated for her earlier, unworthily jealous, thoughts about his attentions to Miranda, and said, “If you ever come to New York again, we do hope you will accept an invitation to dinner, or lunch if it’s more convenient. We live in the centre, not far from here, and can arrange transport for you.”

Miranda agreed this would be no problem and asked for his card. Charles had one of his business cards, with a cell phone number on it and passed it to her.  
“That would give me the greatest pleasure. Thank you so much. I am due back here in the early spring. Can I have your details as well, and I’ll email you with the details when I look in my diary?”

Miranda fished out her own business card from her purse and scribbled a number on the back. “That’s my private cell phone. Use that please. I am on sabbatical currently.”

“Miranda Priestly . . . what a lovely name.” Charles gazed into her eyes in a rather inappropriate manner for someone who she’d summed up as a very private man. She almost felt she had met him before. They hung in a bubble of acknowledgement for a second or two, before he turned and smiled at the twins again. “Now tell me your names. I need to remember them.” The girls shyly stated their names, and leaned over him to check the spelling as he wrote them down.

“Now, we really must get these children home to bed. We have a long journey tomorrow afternoon, and they have to be in school by nine.”

“Goodbye then, Miranda Priestly and your family. I look forward to seeing you all again.”

“Goodbye.” 

As they went back towards the nearest underground car park, Geoff and Andy were walking several yards behind the others. He said sideways to Andrea, “Bit of a charmer, eh? - Our famous cellist”

“Yes,” she sighed. “I was rather jealous when I first saw them together, but I’m sure Miranda isn’t interested.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. She only has eyes for you, and besides he’s as gay as she is.”

“Geoff, how do you know?!”

“Trust me. He is.”

Andrea took his word for it. Geoff was a man of the world, after all. But the connection between Miranda and Charles Anderson was undeniable, almost as though . . . But no, that would surely be too great a coincidence. She did realise whom he reminded her of though. The likeness was uncanny.

“Hurry up darling, or we’ll never get home before midnight!” Miranda had reached the car and was almost having to hold up her now two little zombies.

Andy pushed the remote control on the door key and opened the Lexus for them all to climb aboard. 

“Which hotel, Geoff? We’ll drop you off on the way.”

And so they all went home.


	7. Final preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophia comes in to the kitchen, and Miranda comes out of the closet.

Breakfast at the Priestlys started as a silent affair the following morning. Cara spooned oatmeal for the twins into two bowls and swirled in their favorite addition, a spoon of half and half and a squirt of maple syrup. She pushed them across the table towards the two little ghosts who had somehow managed to crawl into their school clothes and comb their hair, but were fit for not much more. 

“Come on gals, get eating. You’ll need something warm inside you if you’re going to learn anything this morning.”

“I’m sooo tired,” groaned Caroline. 

“My eyes are stuck together,” chipped in Cassidy. 

“Yes, your Ma told me you were up very late last night. But never mind, school finishes at 1pm today, so you can come home and then take that exciting flight to Cincinnati at 4pm. You’ll probably be able to sleep on the plane.”

“Where is Mom?” asked Caroline, obediently shovelling a few spoonsful of porridge into her mouth.

“She went out early, to get round the stores before the crowds start shopping for tomorrow.”

“And Andy?”

“Andy’s gone to fetch your Mom’s Italian friend. Something about stuffing preparation.”

“So how do we get to school?”

“I’ll take you in my car, though a walk might do you good. You look like you could use some fresh air!”

The girls groaned.

“Well maybe not today. Now come on, ten minutes more and then I’m leaving the house with or without you.”

“How is our cranberry sauce looking?”

Cassidy nodded her head towards the fridge where their big bowl of bright berry sauce had been sitting since Monday evening. 

“Looking fine! It will be the belle of the dinner table. I’ll box it up for you later, so you can take it along on the flight”

“We haven’t packed yet for the trip. I want to wear my western cowboy boots.”

“Plenty of time for that this afternoon. Now go and get your books. I’ll wait for you down in the garage.”

Just as Cara and the girls were leaving, Miranda came through the basement door from the garage and ran up the stairs as though she had a posse chasing her. She carried two large upscale supermarket bags. 

“Great! Bobbsies, run down to the garage and carry up the rest of the bags for me will you?”

The girls crawled away still semi-unconscious. 

Miranda exchanged a few words with Cara who said, “I’ll be back from the school run in twenty minutes. Then we can go through the masterplan. I’ve got all the timings down to the nearest five minutes. All you have to do is find out when they like to eat dinner and then we can plot it backwards.”

“Andy will know that.”

“I expect she can turn all of this into a Gantt chart, which you could keep on your phone if you like.”

Cassidy and Caroline thumped back up the stairs, each carrying two bags of groceries. They looked seriously exhausted. 

Miranda kissed them and said, “My poor babies. Try not to fall asleep in class. One of us will come for you at the end of the morning. Then you can maybe take a nap for an hour or so after lunch.”

“Bye, Mom, love you.” They said, almost in unison, received another kiss and then trooped off to school. 

Taking them to the concert had been a good decision, but Miranda decided not to fix anything so late on a school night again. She had slept like a top as soon as her head hit the pillow at midnight, but six hours was her working sleep budget, so she had leapt up like a spring chicken at 6 am, and dragged Andrea up with her, but the twins generally were fast asleep by 9pm and slept until 7 am. 

As she unpacked all the things on her shopping list she hoped Andrea would be all right, navigating her way through the morning traffic to find Sophia. Roy had called to apologise for not being able to come as his services were needed at Runway, so Andy had offered to go.

Miranda felt a little guilty that she had so far been ambiguous about her fiancée in conversations with Sophia. The two of them hadn’t yet met face to face, and Miranda had postponed coming out to Sophia, rather worried about a possibly hard line homophobic reaction due to her strict Catholicism.

Sophia’s Church figured large in her conversations about her own life, and she was obviously devout and a staunch Catholic. Staunchness seemed a prerogative of Methodists, Baptists and Catholics. (Miranda quite liked the idea of being a staunch agnostic, but she realised she was thinking nonsense.) 

She hoped that once Sophia met Andrea, and then obviously fell in love with her, because didn’t everybody? - Andrea was charm personified, then their unconventional relationship would stop being at all shocking. She put this point of view to Pumpkin as he watched her unpack all the boxes and bags, including five days’ supply of kitten food for him, and he purred so loudly he obviously agreed. 

Miranda had talked over most things in a similar way with her darling Patricia, the great blubbering giant of a dog they had all loved and lost a few months earlier, and she realised she was doing the same thing with tiny Pumpkin, using him as a sounding board. He was probably too young still to cope with the responsibility, but as he hadn’t yet learned English, he probably wouldn’t take in much anyway.

Miranda refused to use animal baby-talk, but she did soften her voice even lower, when she told him how smart his fur was beginning to look, and that she had bought him high-end kitten dinners with extra cod-liver oil to make it even shinier. 

Pumpkin admired and certainly looked up to Miranda. She was obviously top person in the house, but his best love was still for Andy, the angel of the dumpster. He wondered where she was now, and when she’d come home to give him some more cream.

Andrea meanwhile was driving Sophia back through the city from Queens. The lady had brought her own shopping baskets full of ingredients, and intended to give Miranda a masterclass on how to prepare a turkey fit for the Pope.

As Andrea had simply introduced herself as “Hi I’m Andy. Miranda sent me!” she assumed the young woman was a nanny or assistant or something. Goodness knows a house that size must need a load of staff. 

This would be her fifth visit, but she still hadn’t met the children, nor the man of the house. That was fine. She only had eyes for Miranda, whose irrepressible energy was rubbing off on her more each lesson. 

What she could not know was that a few months earlier Miranda had been close to a complete personal and professional burn-out and maybe even a nervous break-down, that her happiness was centred on the fact that she was ridiculously, extravagantly, in love with the twenty-four year old woman who shared her bed, and that her actual reputation through much of Manhattan was as a scary ice-queen bitch, with a death stare as lethal as Medusa’s. 

Sophia knew nothing of this, so she took Miranda as she found her, a brilliant linguist who seemed to be picking up Italian almost by osmosis, an inspirational role model in the effective use of hair-spray, and as a fellow mother and new friend. Maybe she was a thousand times wealthier friend, but a friend never the less. She really looked forward to this morning’s cooking session. 

Miranda met her at the door and they exchanged double kisses in the Italian style. Miranda noticed that Sophia had progressed to a hint of smoky grey eye shadow, and had added a scarf to her ensemble, while she herself had dressed down for the trolley dash round the stores, and for once had foregone her usual lipstick and blusher. The Italian woman began to lay everything out on the kitchen table while Andy and Miranda had a quick kiss and a few words out in the hall.

“You found it OK then.”

“Yeah, no probs. in the end. You have to go down a back alley next to Lucky’s at the last junction.”

“Did you tell her . . . ?”

“About us? No darling. I think that’s more your frontier to conquer. But I can come in and start to ravish you in an hour or so if it helps. I just want to finish my chapter. I’m on a roll with this story and want to get it tied up before we leave.”

“Just join us for a coffee break at 11.00. No need to add in any ravishing.”

“Shame. OK then. Best of luck with the stuffing seminar.” And Andy ran upstairs to her third storey writing office.

Miranda remembered just in time. “What time do you eat dinner at your house on Thanksgiving?” she called up the stairs. 

“Aim for 2pm”, came back the answer, seconds before the sound came of a distant door shutting. 

Cara returned at that moment, and Miranda introduced her to Sophia. 

“Let’s start with a coffee!” she announced and Cara took up the cue and started spooning ground coffee into the machine on the counter. “Cara is our domestic manager and nanny. We depend on her for nearly everything to run smoothly here at home.”

Cara snorted. “Do we have a lift off time yet for tomorrow?”

“Yes, 2pm. “

“Shall I plot out the Gantt chart then, backwards from then?”

“Yes. Andy will be down at 11, and she can put it on the computer.”

Sophia took the coffee mug she was handed, and smiled. So Cara, the tall Romanian looking woman, must be the Nanny/Maid and Andy must be the secretary. She understood the household a little more now and relaxed. 

“OK Miranda, would you like to get started?” And her cooking lesson began. 

Two things Sophia knew how to do without thinking, were speaking her native tongue, and cooking good food for large numbers. She soon had Miranda chopping and stirring, and smelling ground fennel seeds and fresh thyme, then making up a chestnut and mushroom stuffing to rival anything Cincinnati could produce. She swirled in some Italian liqueur. “No need to worry. The cooking will remove the alcohol.”

All the time she told Miranda stories about her childhood climbing the impossibly steep hills of Umbria, and of the good hearty peasant dishes of the region. “Barley soup, that is our local speciality. I know. Sounds like shit. But we were poor. We thought it was great.

“I had eight brothers and sisters. Some were born during the war, they are still shorter than the rest of us. I was the baby, born last in 1956, and my mother, she thought I should stay single and remain home to look after her and Papa. I stuck it out until I was twenty-eight, then I thought, I’m not going to be an old maid, a nun in all but name, so I came to the USA. My husband’s cousin sponsored me. I had passed cashier examinations, book-keeping, you know, so I came to keep the books at his restaurant.”

“Do you miss Umbria?”

“Yes, the air was so clean and blue there. I miss my old folks. I have only been home once, to visit my Madre. She lives in a home in Perugia now. I would like to go back there sometime, before she dies. My children have never seen her.”

“I am going to take Andrea to Italy in the spring, perhaps for Easter. She has never been there either. . . . Here, do you think this is right? Should it be so wet?”

“It’s fine. You could also insert two lemons deep inside the bird. That will keep it very moist. So you are travelling with your secretary?”

“My secretary . . . ? Oh no, Andrea is my lover, my fiancée, how would you say it? – La mia amante donna, la mia adorata, la mia fidanzata. She has agreed to marry me, as soon as my divorce is final, in Massachusetts, at our cottage up on Cape Cod, next May.”

Well it was out now. And judging from her fallen jaw and wide open eyes, Sophia had understood perfectly. How did one say “Sorry if you don’t approve of gay marriage” in Italian?

The silence was deafening, and then Sophia swallowed hard to hide her astonishment, gave the stuffing bowl a last vigorous stir, and finally said in English. “Maybe Andy, in that case, she would also like some Italian lessons, for your honeymoon you take before your wedding?”

Cara, heavily into drawing connecting circles and lines on her master-plan with a marker-pen, broke into a laugh, and Miranda and Sophia joined her. When Andrea came downstairs as requested at eleven o’clock she had no idea why all three women were falling about the kitchen laughing.

“Something funny?” she asked.

“No, darling, not at all. Here, have a coffee, and tell us what you know about Gantt charts.”


	8. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene at last shifts to Ohio.

Around noon Sophia packed all her cooking bits and pieces back into her shopping basket and reluctantly prepared to leave this lovely house and return to the dreary business of trying to balance books which were never going to balance. Making the books show a profit at the restaurant was like trying to do up a skirt round your waist when the zip always stuck three inches south because of the size of your belly. 

Her own skirt was similarly compromised under her woollen top and she felt ashamed she had had to secure it secretly with a large safety pin. How did Miranda, a woman who she reckoned must be about her own age, stay so slim and always look so wonderful? 

But Sophia felt affirmed as a good teacher, both because of Miranda’s meteoric progress in Italian, and also for the food prep they had done together. She also felt affirmed as a women somehow, treated as a real person, not a thing.

All three of the other women had treated her warmly, included her in their light-hearted humour. Cara, the tall one, had offered to take her home this time, on a longish detour before picking up Miranda’s girls from their school which was closing early before Thanksgiving. 

Her own kids’ schools weren’t doing this, but she supposed many of the kids in the fancy private school would be making long distance visits to stay with family over the holiday weekend, and none of the families she knew were going anywhere. Maybe she should cook a turkey for her kids though, and give them something other than pasta. She thought about this.

The bombshell Miranda had dropped on her, about her plans to marry a woman, that very same beautiful girl she lived with, was not something she was going to share with the folks at home. She was still trying to get her head round it all. 

It turned her previously vague prejudices about who lesbians were and what they did to each other on its head. Apart from Ellen DeGeneres she couldn’t think of any others she knew about, other than those women softball players and that Rosie person on the TV. 

But she was really falling for Miranda, (not she hastily told herself, in a sexual way,) and this intriguing new dimension to her personality drew Sophia in, rather than repelled her. As she left, Miranda had pressed a little box into her hand.

“Go on, take it, as a small token of appreciation for your help. It’s nothing. I get given them free all the time as samples, but I think you’ll like the smell of it, and it will suit you.”

She could see it was a $100 bottle of perfume, proper perfume, not just toilet water, with Givenchy written in fancy script on the box. 

“Thanks Miranda! Have a great weekend. When shall we see each other again?”

“Roy can come for you as usual on Tuesday, if that suits.”

“Oh Yes! Ciao!”

And then she was driven back into her real life. But when she reached the privacy of her bedroom, she tried on a few dabs of the perfume and realised Miranda was right. It did suit her, and it made her mood lift. When she wore it, she was back up in the townhouse in her mind, and felt immediately more feminine and more attractive. She would have to see how long she could make the bottle last.

. . . . . . . .  
Cara pushed the girls through the door at precisely 1.15. They were greeted by Andy who said, “I’ve made you both a sandwich and there’s a mug of soup. Here eat your lunch and then you can take a nap if you like.”

Miranda was relieved to see her daughters had not suffered too much from their late night, and now looked quite alert and much more awake than they had been earlier. 

Cara saw in her absence Andy’s had put her IT skills to good use and was now printing out a block graph with all the prep and cooking timings organised for this big home-style dinner project. She had been thinking it over on the drive back and said to Miranda now, 

“Look, I’m not doing anything special until you all return, apart from talking to Mike over in Iraq on Skype, and going to my cousin Irma’s for dinner at 4pm. tomorrow. Why don’t I sleep over here for the weekend while you are all away? I can make the new little kitty feel less on his own, and I do think it would be good for you to have me here in the house, with all this art work on display. You know they’ve had a recent spate of break-ins in this district, and criminals will be targeting houses which appear empty.”

Andy nearly kissed her, she was so relieved for Pumpkin, and Miranda thanked her as well. Cara’s room upstairs was always ready for her, and she was long used to sleeping over to babysit the girls anytime Miranda had done a late-night function or an all-nighter at the office. 

“Download any movies, buy in any food or drink you fancy, and of course, I’ll pay you extra for house-sitting. That’s a big weight off my mind.” 

There was then a couple of hours of frantic activity, as Andy and the twins flung various things into various suitcases and rucksacks, and Miranda meticulously folded her chosen outfits for a country weekend between tissue paper, and secured everything in her Louis Vuitton matching set of suitcases. Cara packed up the prepared food items in a chilled freezer box, apart from Andy’s three pumpkin pies, which sat by themselves in a large cake box on the kitchen table. 

Caroline was dissuaded from bringing her cello along, and Cassidy also had to discard her full set of western chaps and boots, but they were finally ready to leave for the airport in good time. Roy turned up to drive them just as Caro made her farewells and disappeared to collect her car. Traffic was already building and she wanted to go home to collect her clothes for the weekend. Four days to herself in Miranda’s luxurious surroundings, with no duties except looking after a very small kitten wasn’t too shabby a prospect.

Andy picked up her laptop, and a bag containing more of the twins’ games and consoles. Everyone including Miranda seemed to have her hands full, but Miranda still managed to look a million dollars. Andrea was so proud of her, but also wondered how she’d cope with the inevitable turning of heads when the folks of Cincinnati saw her. 

People always did that as well when they first met Jenny, her elegant Mom, but Miranda would be way out there with her. She just appeared famous, even where she wasn’t. She’d stopped wearing furs in the face of the twins’ tearful protests, but she always looked like some Hollywood star visiting their old Mom, whenever she swept through provincial airports. 

Anyway, such speculation quite filled Andrea’s head as they reached JFK booking desks. She was also in charge of the tickets and collecting boarding passes etc., so when they finally collapsed into the business section of the aeroplane she was mightily relieved. 

Some tiny thing niggled at her brain, but her erratic memory had settled into normality, so she dismissed it. The plane took off, and the twins instantly fell asleep between her and Miranda. They were on their way! Miranda closed her own eyes, and Andy daydreamed.

Back home, Pumpkin felt just a little lonesome. Since he had arrived there had nearly always been someone in the house with him. He paced around the kitchen for a few minutes, peed politely in the centre of his litter tray by the back door, and ate some kitten biscuits. Then he jumped up onto the table for a better view out of the window. 

There was a large cakebox on the table which made an even higher viewpoint, so he jumped up on that as well. And when Cara came back an hour or two later, that was where she found him, fast asleep on top of the box containing Andrea’s three perfectly baked and packaged pumpkin pies.

At a similar hour, the Priestly family emerged through domestic arrivals in Cincinnati airport behind a large luggage trolley carrying all their gear. Caroline and Cassidy were pushing it in tandem which meant that it swerved erratically back and forth round other groups of people. 

Andrea had put the hood of her puffa coat up against the sudden chill, so she didn’t immediately notice her father waiting, but when she searched for him, she identified his familiar grey head and lawyer’s uniform of a black wool coat and Astrakhan hat. It was much colder than in New York and there was a definite frost in the air. 

She ran over to him and he put his arms round her in a hug. 

“Daddy!” 

“Darling girl. I’ve been so worried about you.”

“No need, not now, anyway. Look, let me introduce you to Miranda and Cassidy and Caroline.”

Richard Sachs moved forward, just fast enough not to be accused of retreating. Miranda held out a leather gloved hand.

“Richard, how lovely to meet you. At last.”

“Likewise.”

Andy managed to stop the twins’ trolley just before it ran into her father. “And these are the twins. Girls, meet my Dad.”

Cassidy held out her hand in exact imitation of her mother. “How lovely to meet you. We’ve been so looking forward to it. Andrea says you have a pony.”

Caroline sized him up like an old soul. He was a very upright, stiff sort of person, looking almost as though he was made up of grey-brown wood, and his eyes were rather stern. She didn’t think Cass should have mentioned the pony quite so soon in their acquaintanceship. She decided to take a different approach.

“Andy has told us so many stories about growing up in Ohio. It sounds lovely. We’re also so sorry to hear that Granny Jen has broken her leg. Is she very poorly. We love her very much you know.”

“Yes, well. We’re very happy you’ve all arrived safely. Andy’s Mom has had a bad fall, but she seems better by the day. Come now, the car is close by. Let me take that trolley for you.” Richard took the trolley firmly away from the children and escorted them over to the short stay parking lot. 

Miranda let him lead the way, but kept pace with him, her high heeled boots clicking along the walkway. Andrea breathed a sigh of relief that their first encounter had gone without actual verbal hostility, though the weather on the streets remained pretty chilly. 

Her father was pulling luggage from the trolley into the back of the car, when she heard the ping from her phone that signalled a text message. As they all climbed into the car, she glanced to see it was from Cara. She wondered what the message was, but decided it could wait. The stars were out, and the star of her heart was right here beside her. That was all that mattered.

She was back home in Cincinnati, and the trip home to the Sachs’ little ranch would take less than forty minutes from the airport. The thought of a blazing open fire and her mother and grandmother sitting by it, waiting for them, filled her with joyful anticipation. This was going to be the best Thanksgiving ever, as she had so very much to be thankful for!


	9. Out of the Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cluster of women, and an absent man. Miranda's mental picture ability is once again confounded.

The road out of Cincinnati towards the Sachs homestead curved along through the suburbs of the city, lit by a blaze of oncoming evening traffic. Miranda sat in the back of the SUV with her girls on either side, while Andy sprawled up in the front next to her father, who remained a man of very few words.

It was too dark to see much of the landscape, apart from the dark shapes of the buildings, which gradually gave way to more isolated groups of houses. Miranda couldn’t really work out whether they were driving north or south, east or west. 

Cassidy was still determined to make friends with this new grandfather personage, and asked him repeated questions from the back seat as he drove them home, which he was forced to answer, whether or not he was really inclined.

“So, is it way out in the country, where you live?”

“Somewhat, our place is on its own, but we have neighbours we can see down the road.”

“How long have you lived there?”

“Since Andy was a little girl. We moved out of the city to get a place with more land.”

“And what do you do with the land?”

“How do you mean?”

“Do you have a ranch with lots of cows? Or do you grow stuff?”

“No cows. I like to raise apples.”

“Apples?” Cassidy had rather hoped he would say, “Horses”.

“How do you raise apples?”

“I grow them on apple trees, in an orchard.”

“Oh. Do you have lots of apple trees?”

“Some. You’ll see tomorrow.”

That was kind of a conversation close down. Cassidy decided to hold off from further friends making. She nestled against her beautiful Mom, who was unusually silent. Caroline, sitting on the other side of Miranda, was looking out of the window, and humming her new cello tune under her breath.

Andy turned and smiled at them all. “Five minutes more, and then we’ll be there. It’s a dear old house, nothing grand, but Dad and Mom have made it very comfortable, and it will be warm inside. There’s a real nip in the air out here.”

“Some talk of snow coming,” said her father, as he turned off the main highway. “That will be fun for all the journeys people have to take.” The way he said it implied he didn’t think it would be fun at all.

Then they were there. 

Andy led the way and burst open the front door. It led straight into a large, oak floored living room lit by an assortment of table lamps and wall lights, all focussing on a large open fire with blazing logs and the flames just perfect for welcoming weary travellers.

“My darlings, come in! “ Jenny was seated on a long sofa covered in a multi-coloured crocheted blanket, her right foot resting in front of her and further elevated by a cushion. She had on a plaster cast from the knee which also went round her ankle as far as her toes. She held out her arms, and the twins ran forwards to hug her, followed by Andy who received a warm kiss, and then by Miranda, who was held tight in a very affectionate embrace. 

“Am I glad to see you all! I am so, so, sorry to have dumped all the catering on you, Miri. I wished I hadn’t, as soon as I put the phone down afterwards, it seemed such an imposition. But then I heard from you that you have this brilliant plan, and everyone will share in the food prep. Why did I never think of that before?”

Andy sat down and snuggled up to her mother. 

“Where’s Momma?”

“Turning off the lights in the chicken house.” Jenny then explained to Miranda, “She keeps laying hens, and lights them up for a few hours in the evenings this time of year. It prolongs their egg production.”

At that point the sound of someone swearing could be heard from the adjoining kitchen, “Darned dogs. Get back!”

A very elderly woman in a brown mac and wearing rubber boots popped her head round the door. 

“Hi everyone, be with you in a minute! Just have to stop these damn dogs tracking mud all through the house. “ 

There was the sound of pushing and shoving and some yelping, then a door being shut in the far kitchen corridor. Eventually, eighty-three year old Momma, Jenny’s mother and Andrea’s grandma, finally managed to emerge from the back of the house and come through into the living room to greet them. 

Miranda realised she was yet again going to have discard her previous mental picture of the ladies in the Sachs household. She had imagined a Momma to be stiff whitehaired matriarch, but this wiry old soul more closely resembled Grandma Moses, or someone out of the old Beverley Hill Billies show.

She wore patched blue trousers, a multi-coloured striped top and a red spotted headscarf over some very bedraggled locks. Her nails were not exactly clean, and she had a face as brown as a hickory stick. She flung a fresh log on the fire with some gusto before crushing Andy to her chest with huge enthusiasm. She was thin, and wrinkled, but had a very mobile, merry face. 

“Momma!”

“Pipsqueak!”

“Now, come and meet my family. This is Miranda, and the twins are Cassidy and Caroline. They’ll be good girls and tell you which one they are, if you’re not sure, until you get properly acquainted. But if in doubt, just listen when they speak. If there’s a pony in the sentence, it will be Cassidy.” 

Miranda was still wearing her thick suede overcoat, and felt a little overheated in front of the fire. 

“Here, let me take that, darling,” said Momma, encouraging her to remove her coat, and then lifted it and flung it over the back of an armchair. “Now, let me look at you, the one who has finally landed our little catfish.”

She took Miranda’s chin and turned her face sideway to the lamplight, almost as if she had every right to manhandle her. 

“My, my, Jenny was right, you are a beauty! We don’t see many of your sort round here! But I understand what she meant when she said Andy has made the right choice. You’ll do!”

Miranda spluttered, and wondered if she should appear grateful for passing this abrupt physical examination. 

“Thank . . . thank you.” 

Momma released her face, but then gave her an enthusiastic, rather bony, bear-hug which almost lifted her off her feet. It was a very different welcome to Richard’s, anyway. He had disappeared along with the vehicle and hadn’t even come into the house with them. 

Then Momma turned to the twins, and immediately recruited them into the task of preparing some supper they could all enjoy by the fire. 

“Come with me, youngsters. There’s some mac’n’cheese nearly ready we can dish up together. I bet you’re a mite hungry after that plane trip. Come into the kitchen and tell me all about yourself. Which of you is the pony-mad one then?”

The twins disappeared with her into the kitchen, willingly enough it seemed, and Andrea drew Miranda down beside her, to snuggle up on a sofa set cornerwise to the one Jenny was occupying. 

“Here we are, all together. My two favorite women. The last time I saw you Mom, I was so out of it, but Miranda has taken such good care of me, I’m recovered. How do you think my hair looks now?”

“It’s coming along splendidly, but how is your head wound?”

“You can hardly see it, Miranda says, and it never hurts. My memory is good as new as well . . . Oh, Holy Shit!!”

Andrea’s face went so distraught, Miranda felt really worried. 

“What’s the matter, darling?”

“The pies, the pumpkin pies! What did I do with the pies? Where are they?”

She remembered the ping on her phone and pulled it out of her pocket. 

Yep, it was from Cara, with a photo of Pumpkin asleep on the cakebox back in uptown New York. The message said, “Don’t worry, kid. Just serve ice-cream. No-one will mind.”

“Oh, no. I’ve let you down, Miranda! I’ve let everyone down. My stupid memory! How could I forget the pies?!”

Miranda was very quick to try and reassure her, knowing how frustrated she’s been with herself over every small memory lapse since the bang on the head. 

“Darling, hush. It really doesn’t matter. Cara’s right. No-one will mind. Anyway it was my fault we left the pies on the table, not yours. I was asking far too much of you as it was.”

Andy looked close to tears. 

“Now, stop that,” said her mother. “It’s a miracle you managed to bring everything else, and the family, as Miranda says, safely here. We’ll think of something else to serve for dessert tomorrow. Now, tell me about your masterplan for the catering. Miranda’s told me it’s a work of mathematical genius which you and Cara produced.”

Andrea made a face. “Not sure about that, but Miranda will work miracles tomorrow I’m sure. Can I show her up to our room now? I could do with a wash and feel like putting my head under the cold water tap. How could I forget the pies?!”

“Andy, stop that!” said both women, virtually together. Miranda decided she needed a quiet few minutes with her girl alone, and that a trip up to their sleeping quarters would be a very good idea.

Jenny said, “Yes, you two are in the end guest room with the en-suite, and the twins are in your old room, Andy. Richard will have taken up the cases. I heard him come in the back door earlier, and he’s catching up on some last minute work in his study now I expect.”

Miranda and Andrea went upstairs and Andrea gave her a quick location tour of the rooms on the second floor. Richard had indeed left their luggage just inside the guest room door. Miranda was quietly relieved to see they were at opposite ends of the house from Andy’s parents. 

When they were at last alone in their bedroom, Andy drew the warm drapes across the black night outside the windows, and gathered Miranda into her arms, putting her head on her shoulder, and letting Miranda wrap her up in a deep, consoling hug.

“Sshh, not a word more about those pies. They’ll be fine. Cara can freeze them for later.”

“It’s just my stupid memory. . . “

“Leaving the pies wasn’t because of your memory loss before. You just have too much on your mind. Hey, come here, lie on the bed with me, and let me take your mind off things for a bit. There, like that . . . “

Miranda had taken off her boots, and slipped Andrea out of hers, then she pushed her back on the pillows and started to kiss her, on the mouth, once, twice, three times, and then again on her neck, until Andrea was thoroughly comforted. 

She knew she would feel very randy later, with the thrill of having Miranda here in bed with her, in Ohio, with her tribe. Heck, she could feel her libido rising now, as she put her hand up to nestle against Miranda’s cashmere sweater! But they really should return downstairs and help Momma with the fireside supper. 

A little memory then popped up into her mind and she giggled. 

“What, honey?”

“I am just remembering. At Runway, last winter, when I forgot to fetch you some blouses once from Donna Karan, you said what a total disappointment I was, and you wondered what it would take for me to grow some brains.”

“I was a bitch.”

“Of course. You did it for a living, darling. But don’t you remember? I am sure that day you were wearing this same sweater, and all I was thinking of was how I so wanted to put my hands up inside it, like this, and undo your bra, like this, and grab you by the breasts, like this . . .” 

Andy’s voice slowed down dramatically and deepened as she matched words to actions. Miranda felt her body react until she could feel fire burning right down to her toes.

“I remember. I had a perverse desire to make you cry and run away, so I could stop suffering in your presence. I dearly wanted to take off your clothes and fling you on the floor behind my desk. I wish I’d known you felt the same way, then I might well have let you kiss me and put your hands up my sweater.”

“What would you have done then?”

“This . . ., and maybe this, and then . . . maybe this. “

“Hmmm . . .”

“Mommy! Andy! Can you come? Supper’s ready and we’re starving!”

They both heard Cassidy calling urgently up the stairs, and reluctantly resurfaced.

“Coming! Give us two minutes!”

“An early night for us all, don’t you think, tonight? After I’ve unpacked all our food, and inspected your Mom’s kitchen. We will have so much to do tomorrow.”

“Yes Miranda, my sweet.”

Andy bundled Miranda’s breast back into her bra, kissing each nipple tenderly in turn, and pulled her soft sweater back into place. Then they rose to re-join the folks downstairs, trying to look ‘normal’. Thankfully nobody seemed to notice the brightness in their eyes, or the delightfully pink flush to Miranda’s cheek.

“Come and have some mac’n’cheese, Mom. Granny Jen has it without cheese though. Isn’t that interesting?” said Caroline. 

“I suppose it’s too late to see the pony tonight,” said Cassidy.

“Worry not, sweetie,” said Andrea, passing round bowls of steaming pasta. “First thing tomorrow. I promise.”  
Richard still hadn’t resurfaced. 

“God, how he must hate me,” thought Miranda. “He can hardly bear to be in the same room as me. How are we going to resolve this?”


	10. Sixteen Baked Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea treats Miranda to a very big apron, with positive results.

Miranda woke in the dark and wiggled her toes against the soft sheets. The bed felt delightfully warm and cosy, especially with her darling girl wrapped around her like a living electric blanket, but her inner clock knew she should get up and get on with life, not least an encounter with the giant bird waiting for her in the chill of the back utility room. She reluctantly pushed back the covers and went into the shower. 

She knew what she was going to wear. She’d planned her outfits like a costume party. This morning she’d chosen a dressed down but bright sort of ensemble, of crisp blue and red checked shirt, designer jeans with a perky diamante decoration on the pockets, navy blue velour top and low cut boots. This was an “I’m running the kitchen” uniform, and she intended to change into a dress suitable for a family dinner later. 

When she emerged from the shower, wrapped up in one of the giant bath towels, Jenny had left for them in the bathroom, Andrea was waiting for her. “I’ve bought you a little present,” she said, and passed across a bag. Inside was a very large wrap-around chef’s apron, with the stark warning printed on it. “Don’t mess with me until dinner’s on the table!”

“Well, that’s to the point,” replied Miranda. “Have you bought yourself one, as my sous-chef?”

“As a matter of fact I have.” Andy pulled out a similar bag, and spread out the contents on the bed. The motto on her apron said, ”If your feet are under my table, you hands should be in my . . sink."

Miranda laughed, Andy dashed into the shower herself, dressed, and then they went downstairs. They pinned up the masterplan on the huge family fridge, and set about dealing with the turkey. It weighed in at 20 lbs, so Miranda reckoned 5 hours at 15 minutes a lb, and then check it, in case it needed an hour longer. She had adjusted Cara’s timings slightly on the roasting, having secretly looked up how to roast large birds on several websites. 

Miranda wrapped herself round in her new apron and wore it like armour. She suddenly felt invincible. She turned on the large ovens, and fetched the plastic box of stuffing Sophia had helped her construct, lemons and a few sticks of butter. 

“Now then bird, let’s show them how it’s done.”

Andy saw that Miranda was completely happy in charge of her kitchen, and conversing with her ingredients. She left her to it, made a pot of tea and took her mother up a cup in her bedroom. 

Jenny was sitting up against the pillows, and reached out her hands for the drink with a big smile. Her father had apparently already risen for he was nowhere to be seen. 

“Where’s Dad?” asked Andrea. “I couldn’t help noticing how much he’s been snubbing us all since we got here. Why is he being such a jerk? I bet he didn’t even want to collect us from the airport. Did you have to insist he came?”

“Andy, dearest. Yes, he came for you because I asked him, but he knows how to do the decent thing. Obviously I can’t drive. I’m sorry he’s being like this. He’s finding it all rather hard. He still blames Miranda for making you so miserable in your job, and has this notion that she just wants to use you as her general assistant still. He also thinks he’s lost you for ever.”

“That’s so unfair. You didn’t like the sound of her when first I told you, but when you met her, you felt completely differently, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I love her now like a younger sister. She’s adorable. But I do think your Dad is even more jealous because of that, because I like her so much, he feels isolated. And you’ve always been his special child. He just doesn’t want to let you go.”

“Well, tell him how much it upsets me. And Miranda is bound to notice. She’ll be so hurt. She’s much more sensitive than she lets on. Where is he now?”

“He’s taken the horse trailer over to our neighbours, the Brown family, to collect some horses. He’s borrowing two more mounts so you and the twins can all go riding together while you’re here for the weekend. That was his idea. He’s not all bad, my love. Stubborn as a mule, but he will come round. He seems to like the girls, anyhow.”

“Hmm, well, it will be good if I can take both of them out riding with me tomorrow.”

“How are things going in the kitchen? Has the turkey gone in yet?”

“As we speak. But, Mommy Bear, you have to stay right out of dinner prep today, Hands off, that’s the deal. Well, maybe I can give you some veggies to chop at the table in the dining room if you like later. 

“Miranda is certainly good at managing, and she has everything sorted. By the way, I’ve asked Edward and Brooke as the other vegetarians to bring a main course dish for you three. I just have to solve the dessert problem |I’ve created.” 

“All the family will start rolling up soon after breakfast. It will be pandemonium here before long. Now, can you pass me my crutches, I must get washed and dressed.”

“Need any help?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Why not go and see if the little girls have woken, and help them have some breakfast. I’ll hop down soon.”

Jenny was right. It was pandemonium in the house within the next couple of hours. In fact the kitchen was almost the quietest room. Couple by couple the older siblings poured in, embraced Andy, hugged the children and greeted Miranda before leaving her their various offerings on the kitchen counter. The array of side dishes, sauces, and salads grew until everything was assembled. 

The twins were bouncing around excitedly, until Edward and Brooke turned up with their two little sons, and a soccer ball, when they put on their warm jackets and gloves and went outside with the little guys to have a kick-about. Then Margot and her husband Connor arrived as well, with their little baby girl, and Andy immediately melted at the sight of the nine month old.

Miranda was startled to see that Connor was African American, and their baby more closely followed his looks than her mother’s. It was yet another thing which Andy had failed to mention. Maybe she’d hinted at it when she said, “Diversity is our family’s watchword,” or simply didn’t think it worth mentioning. 

Margot was an older version of Andy in many ways. She came into the kitchen with their offerings, and gave Miranda a squeeze round the waist.

“Welcome to our mad family. I guess you may have been given a hard time by my father, but don’t take it personally. He’s just going through a late-life crisis. Talk to him about apples and he’ll soften up.” 

Miranda had her own idea about apples, and half way through the morning, when she saw that Richard’s vehicle and trailer had returned, she decided to wrap up warm in her suede coat and venture outside to find him. She was nothing if not brave. 

The trailer had parked up behind the old red painted barn behind the homestead, and Richard was unloading two horses, one tall, one barely big enough for an adult, into the corral which adjoined it. They were joining a skewbald pony, the famous Patches, who whinnied and trotted over to greet them. It was a minor miracle Cass had not seen them arrive and shot down to talk to them already.

Miranda leaned on the corral fence and watched him. Eventually he acknowledged her presence and came over. He had on a Western Stetson, which he tipped in an old fashioned way towards her. 

“’Morning.”

“Good morning, Richard. Thank you for borrowing the extra horses. The twins will love them. I’m afraid Cassidy is rather forward for her age, but she is so keen to make friends. She means no harm by it.”

“That’s fine. Andy was like that at her age. Never could get her to shut up.”

He squinted at her in the wintry sunshine. “What can I do for you?”

“You said last night you grow apples. Do you have any in store by any chance? Cooking apples?”

“Yes, they’re in the barn, wrapped up in newspaper in boxes. They keep through the winter like that.”

“Can I see?”

He looked astonished, but nodded his head.

“OK, if you like. This way.”

They went together into the great country barn, built in the Dutch style, so it could be opened both ends. Richard was obviously a bit of a hoarder because all sorts of woodwork and old implements were everywhere, along with tack for horses, and piles of old books and newspapers. At the far end were stalls for horses, where Patches had his winter quarters, and large galvanised bins for oats and chicken feed. There were also a bank of rectangular hay-bales of the old fashioned sort. 

Richard started to climb an open stair case running up to the loft and Miranda followed him. This was obviously his kingdom, where he hid away from dangerous lesbians. She felt she was crossing the drawbridge into his castle, as they walked along the loft gallery together.

Crates of apples were lined up to the right and left. 

“Unusual hobby for a lawyer?”

“My father was a farmer. I was raised on a farm not far from here. Old style, family farm. The sort you don’t see anymore. I like growing apples. You can graft them on to rootstock and it strengthens the whole tree. I’ve been working on my own strains. Now, what do you want, one or two for a bit of apple sauce?”

“No, I’d like sixteen big ones, for baking. I thought you might help me do baked apples as a dessert. Andy is so upset about forgetting to bring her pumpkin pies, we can’t just serve ice-cream. If we put the apples up together, you and I, they could bake in the same oven as the roast potatoes, after they’re finished.”

“I don’t do an awful lot of cooking. Jenny likes to keep her kitchen to herself.”

“Well, I’m not like that. I need you to lend a hand, for Andy’s sake. Can we choose sixteen of the best, now, and take them back up to the house?”

He stared at her as though she was talking a foreign language, but fetched a large wicker basket, and they went through a few boxes together, unwrapping the large cooking apples, and choosing the best. Then he helped her back down the stairs and carried the basket for her into the kitchen. It was quiet, with the smell of the turkey roasting steadily away in the main oven, and roast potatoes and cornbread cooking in the one below. 

Miranda acted as if he would obviously agree to work alongside her. 

“Could you wash them in the sink, just to get the dust off, and then cut a circle in the peel round their middles for me? I’m just looking in the drawer for an apple-corer.”

Richard rinsed off the apples, and his own hands in the kitchen sink, and then laid them out on the drainer. Miranda produced a large deep baking tray, and between them they cored and cut through the apple peel until sixteen splendid apples were sitting in the pan. Miranda had slipped off all her rings and placed them on the window sill.

Then from her supplies, she produced a bag of mixed dates and raisins, seemingly out of the blue, and asked him to put a spoonful down each apple’s core. Richard obediently did this, partly because it was all for Andy, and also because he couldn’t think of a way to say no to this woman. She was after all, cooking his dinner for him, and for his whole extended family. He had never imagined she would dream of getting her hands dirty in such a straight forward way.

Richard and Miranda’s fancy baked apples were finished with a large spoonful of brown sugar sprinkled over each one, and a small pat of butter. He diced the butter into sixteen cubes, and she distributed the small pieces over the fruit. 

“Could you tear off a large square of foil please?” Miranda passed Richard the roll. So he tore it as neatly as he could. He realised he was doing everything she asked, and it didn’t feel too bad. “Now, just cover the apples and tuck the foil round the pan. We can leave them now for a couple more hours, before they bake. Thanks Richard, so much. You’ve taken care of the whole dessert for me. I’m really grateful I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He looked a little bashful. He had wanted to hate her, to show how much he hated her, to be obdurate about her daring to want to marry his youngest daughter. But this Miranda, this woman he had built up in his mind as a gorgon who had seduced both his daughter and his wife, had quite disarmed him.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, “to keep you going in here. You’ve got a lot on, I can see. I’ve got plenty of liquor.”

“Thanks Richard, but I need to keep a clear head. How about we both have a hot, strong coffee instead?” 

Andrea swung through the kitchen door at just that moment and saw Miranda and her father standing close together in apparent harmony. She announced. “We’re all having great fun next door, but Cassidy has noticed the three horses through the window, so I promised her I take all the children down to visit them in a little while. I just wanted to have a word about the dessert crisis. I still can’t think what to do.”

“All sorted, my love. Your father’s given us his best baked apples. And they are all ready and prepped now. He’s been such a help.”

Andrea’s mouth opened and shut without a sound coming out. Miranda, who in the old days used not to compliment or thank anyone, and her father, who she thought would sulk for America and spoil the whole holiday, seemed to be having some sort of love-fest.

“I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee, shall I?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at Miranda in an obvious question. 

Miranda smiled and nodded. “That would be lovely darling. And Richard, could you help me lift the turkey out of the oven? It’s time to baste it again, and it’s just a little too heavy for me.”


	11. A family tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment we've been waiting for. Dinner is served!

“We need to make up one long table, so we can all sit together, not push the children off on a separate one.”

As the dinner hour approached, Jenny was swinging herself across the main room on her crutches. The smells from the kitchen were all very promising. At least there was no scent of burned turkey flesh or blue smoke emanating. She knew Miranda would carry all the organising of food production as brilliantly as she did everything else. 

Andy took instructions from her Mom, and along with a few of the other family members milling about, pulled two large trestle tables into alignment and covered them with the extra- large holiday table cloths. Then with Jamie’s and little Bobby’s help, she dressed the long table and laid out all the table mats, silverware and drinking glasses. Low height table decorations, with small gourds and squashes, autumn leaves and large fir cones from their own patch of woodland were interspersed with red and orange candles. It looked good, homely but effective.

“S’nice,” declared Bobby. He was only two, but seemed to have an eye for how things should be done. They then counted out the dining chairs, fetching them from all over the house, and putting them in place. A high-chair was found for Rose-Marie, and set between her mother and father’s seats. Finally Andrea placed a comfortable padded chair for her mother at one end of the double table, and a captain’s chair at the other end for her father. She and Miranda would have to sit nearest to the kitchen, to bring in the various hot dishes. 

Richard seemed to have had a minor personality transplant since his earlier session with Miranda, and was now taking good care of the four eldest children after Andy had taken them down to the horses. He gave the twins the task of grooming the two ponies, and Cassidy at last felt so contented she thought her heart would burst. 

Patches was a very friendly little horse and liked having his winter coat curry-combed out. He snickered with happiness as he pulled hay from a net tied up for him, while Cassie followed Richard’s instructions about how best to brush him. It was so long since a certain small girl with long chestnut braids had devoted many hours to doing similar things for him, and he missed the attention.  
Caroline had fallen in love with the pretty bay pony fetched from the neighbours, and was plaiting her mane. The two younger boys frolicked about with the family dogs, the flat coated retrievers who had caused Momma such exasperation the day before. 

Both girls chatted to Grandpa Sachs, who did seem to have jollied up remarkably. He was rubbing saddle soap onto the old tack ready for the following day’s horse-riding lessons. 

“Tell us about Andy, when she was our age! Was she ever naughty?” 

“Hmm, I could tell you a few things . . .” he said, and proceeded to do so. The subsequent sound of their laughter could be heard all the way back up to the house, where Miranda was consulting her master-plan, and ticking off the final tasks before going upstairs to change. Momma, who seemed as happy outside with her hens, as inside with the grandkids, had come to join her and was perched up on the old kitchen stool, watching her as she worked.

“Didn’t get a chance to say it last night, but those girls of yours, they’re a credit to you.” Miranda’s heart gave a tiny skip. Until the advent of Andy, her children had been as much a worry as a joy to her. They had a reputation for being little horrors. But something magical had indeed happened in the last five months. 

“Thanks, Momma. If it’s true, then much of it is down to Andy. She has a gift for managing children somehow, and bringing out the best in them.”

“What are you going to do about getting her some kids of her own, eventually?”

Well, that was direct! Miranda stopped draining the broccoli spears, and turned to the old woman beside her. “I’m not sure. When Andy’s ready, I suppose we’ll look for a donor.”

“I might have done that these days. In my time we didn’t have the chance, so I screwed myself up and married Ted Diamond. He sure was handsome, on account of his mother being a Cherokee. That’s where Jenny and her daughters get their looks from. I wanted a baby real bad, and when Jenny came she was all I ever dreamed of. So I stopped at one. That’s why she doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, and maybe that’s why she plunged into having all those babies herself, one after the other. Her Pa and I had split up, very amicable like. We never told anyone the reason.”

Miranda’s normally quick wits took a few seconds to catch up with what Andy’s grandmother was saying. 

“Are you saying, you only married to have a child?”

“Yes. I was in love with Jenny Monroe, the preacher’s daughter. I loved her so hard I thought I would die of pain, when her pa got posted off to Cleveland, when we were nineteen. I named Jenny after her.”

“And you’re telling me this, because . . . ?”

“You mustn’t let grumps like my son-in-law discourage you. I’ve always known Andy was gay, like me, and I know you’ll keep her safe, make her very happy, and let her shine. Her Mom knows it too. She talked it all over with me when she came home that first time from New York, and I finally came out to her, my own daughter, at the age of eighty three! Better late than never, I suppose. Knowing how much she likes you, made it easier for me, you see. We’re real close now, and at least I can die an honest woman. So thank you, Miranda. You’ve done me and this family a great service by coming out and chasing our Andy.”

Miranda wiped her hands and went across to Momma. She gave her a gentle hug and kissed her cheek. “You are something else, you know that? And you’ve totally restored my faith in grandmothers. Now, could you just sit there and make sure nothing boils over, while I go upstairs and change? Then we’ll need to call everyone in to wash and come to the table.” 

Everyone agreed that the Sachs Thanksgiving Dinner that year was like no other. The table groaned with delicious food, the turkey was moist as could be, and full of flavour, and the stuffing and cranberry sauce were eaten so fast, there was none left to have cold the next day. All the contributions fitted together beautifully, and the conversations between all the brothers and sisters who didn’t get a chance to see much of each other through the year flowed back and forth.

Jenny gave the blessing at the beginning, which included, “To thank God for all the warmth and love which binds us as a family. Wherever we come from, whatever our background, we come together in love. That’s what’s special about America. We’re pretty much all immigrants, apart from Great Grandma Diamond, and yet we share so much in common. We’re family, that’s what we are.”

Richard had carried through the turkey from the kitchen, and while he was helping her plate it up on an enormous platter, had also passed Miranda a little pie dish with one extra apple he’d prepped for baking. “It’s for Jenny,” he whispered. “I forgot she won’t eat butter, so I’ve fetched another one, and put a dollop of that fancy vegan margarine she uses, and dressed it up like you showed me.”

“Brilliant,” whispered Miranda back. “Let’s put all the apples in the oven now. They’ll be ready when we are.” Together they put the very large baking dish, and the little one in the oven. 

When it came to the dessert, Andy fetched a large collection of dishes she’d warmed, and then Richard came through from the kitchen again, bearing the apples, all soft and golden and delicious, smelling divine. 

“Dad! Did you do these?”

Margot looked sceptical in the extreme. 

“Miranda showed me how. I really just helped her. But at least I grew these apples from the pips I started fifteen years ago. They’re fruit from this farm.” 

As Andy started serving them up, her father became more expansive.

“These apples are called Bramleys, an old English type, but they came from a “Family tree”, where I grafted three different kinds of apples together on one root stock. Those family trees also have Granny Smith Apples, and James Grieves growing together. They generally all get on very well. 

“I like to think that is like our family. We have grafted together all our different backgrounds and countries of origin. All our kids so far have great partners, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Hannah doesn’t come home engaged to someone who is Japanese. 

“But I specially wanted to say a big welcome to Miranda, Cassidy and Caroline, who are here with us for the first time, and who have made this holiday extra special. Thank you, all of you so much, and Miranda, we wouldn’t be sitting here, eating this feast if it wasn’t for you. We all know that.”

Everyone broke into spontaneous applause. Miranda blushed, and said rather charmingly. “I was just doing a Tom Sawyer on you all, like when he persuaded his friends to paint the fence. If you haven’t noticed, nearly everything on this table has been prepared by someone other than me. All I had to do was assemble it.”

Then she said, “Shall I tell you why I thought of roasted, or baked apples as a dessert? This is a little story my girls have never heard. When I was their age, I didn’t have any parents, and I’d had rather a rough time, so I was taken into an orphanage to live. 

“The very first day I was there, after I’d been washed, and given lovely clean clothes to wear, the matron took me to the big dining room. More than forty children were sitting there, and it felt like everyone was looking at me. But the food was wonderful. Maybe it was liver and mashed potato, I don’t remember. But I do remember the dessert. The cook marched in with an enormous set of trays, each with twenty baked apples on them, and we were given one each. That baked apple was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten in my life, and I’ve never forgotten the taste. So tuck in everybody, and thank you especially to Richard for providing such a great addition to the feast.” 

Everyone cheered again. Bobby banged his spoon on the table, and little Rose-Marie chirruped with excitement. Cassidy whispered to Caroline, “Wow, never knew that about Mom, did you? So she lived in an orphanage! Now why have we never had baked apples at home before?”

Caroline whispered back, “It’s because she wanted to forget, I guess. But she’s happy now. Look at her and Andy!”

They looked up the table and caught the intense gaze of complete love and affinity between their mother and Andy, and then saw Andy squeeze Miranda’s hand. “Thank-you,” they saw her mouth move silently, “for loving me.” “No, thank you, for loving me and making me whole,” whispered their Mom in return.

“Can I have my apple now?” broke in little Randell with a loud voice from the bottom of the table, and Andy resumed normal service with a laugh. 

“Does Patches like apples?” was the final comment on the subject, coming from one of the twins. Momma looked at the energetic little red-head sitting next to her. 

“I expect he might. You need to check his teeth first though. Here you are, Cassidy. There’s one baked apple left. Why don’t you finish it up now, with a dollop of ice-cream?”

“Yes please. But how did you know it was me?”


	12. My girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was to be the final chapter, but it slipped in unannounced, as a little extra. Well, everyone deserves a lie-in on a holiday.

Miranda lay snuggled in bed, next to Andrea, and in that delicious early morning half dreamlike state you can occasionally enter, when you know you don’t have to hurry off to work or charge through a school-day routine, to make sure your children aren’t late for their 8.30 am start, she just rested. She lay there, silent, well behaved, unselfishly not waking her companion for sex, or to be teased, or tickled. She just lay there. Then she heard a clock chime seven times somewhere in the house. Not so early after all.

Andrea was curled up into a ball, and dead to the world. She had been on her feet for nearly all of yesterday, and by the time all the company who weren’t resident had dispersed, having retrieved their various dishes and serving platters from the dish-washer, kissed their parents, grandmother, Miranda, Andrea, and then each other multiple times, it had been close to midnight. 

The twins had dropped fast asleep almost on their feet about 8pm and she and Andrea had virtually carried them up to their room, which had been Andy’s own room for fifteen years. This made Miranda love it, purely for that reason. She had received one great gift she hadn’t expected over this trip, the chance to time-travel back into Andrea’s childhood and teenage years, and thus to see the world more clearly as she saw it.

The way her brothers and sisters, mother, grandmother, and now at last, her father, had received Miranda as one of their own, had been the main gift, of course. But this stay in the family home, with all the echoes of little Andy, had been enlightening. She could imagine Andrea playing the piano because her music still stayed on top of the instrument, with Andy Sachs May 1992 scrawled in a twelve year-old’s hand on the top cover. She had also seen the pictures of her in the High School softball team, all her old bears, pictures of ponies, drawings, and bookshelves full of her favorite reading, in her old bedroom under the eaves, this had let Miranda get a good glimpse into her past. 

Miranda had successfully entwined herself into Andrea’s present. She knew she was loved, and certainly fancied by the girl, that to Andrea she was hotter than hell. She wanted more than almost anything else in the world, for it to stay like that until one or both of them dropped dead. But she now also enjoyed looking back at little Andy, seeing the girl who would become her woman.

Anyway, this woman was obviously now exhausted and wouldn’t wake soon. Miranda slid sideways out of the bed as silently as she could, felt for her sheepskin slippers, wrapped a robe round her over her pyjamas and padded out of the room. It was nearly dawn on that late November Friday, and she craved some coffee. She descended to the kitchen to fix some herself. 

She wasn’t the first up, however. Momma was in the kitchen, still in her nightgown with an old mac thrown on top, and wearing her trademark rubber boots. She was mashing bread crusts together with some hot water in a bucket.

“For the chooks,” she said. “I’ll put some bran with it outside. They like a warm mash in the cold weather. Help yourself to coffee darling. I’ve just brewed a pot, for I figured you might be down before long.”

Miranda did help herself, poured a mugful, added a dash of cream, and sat down at the table. She decided she liked being called “Darling” by Momma.

“Don’t you feel sad Jenny won’t eat any of your lovely eggs herself?”

“Well, no. I made the girl what she is, stubborn as hell, so I can’t blame her. As soon as she could talk, and learned that beef was really a cow, and that mutton was a sheep, and that chicken was a hen or a rooster, then it was like she signed the pledge. She went to India for three months just before she married Richard and came back even more converted, and turned completely vegan. She’s never pushed it down anyone else’s throat though, so to speak. I think it’s very unselfish how she’s cooked meat for the family ever since. Edward followed her as a vegetarian though, and Brooke is as well.”

“Cassidy may well do the same. She especially adores Jenny, and is someone who likes to be different. She’s also crazy about animals.”

“Sweet kid. They both are. Do they see much of their father?”

“We try. It’s down to once a month on average at the moment. He’s been somewhat distracted.”

Miranda changed the subject. “Andrea obviously loves little children. I couldn’t help noticing yesterday how she spent half the afternoon with Rose-Marie or Bobby in her arms. She’ll make a wonderful mother. Momma, I’ve been thinking over what you said to me yesterday, about the way you managed to conceive Jenny. Now you’ve told her, it would be really good if you could share the story with Andy.”

“I rather hoped you might tell her, about my being gay, you know. It might come easier from you.”

“Momma, I think it’s your story to tell, and I believe it might make Andrea feel much more comfortable about her own sexuality. I worry sometimes she has doubts, that she thinks she is only gay because she loves me, and so it has to come with the territory. But I want her to blossom as a gay woman in her own right. Am I making any sense here?”

“Yes, you are. Andy was living as a straight girl when she first went to New York, with that nincompoop Nate. I think only I could see how that would end up. When she came home last March for those few days, and went on and on about how what a terrible boss you were, I could tell at once how besotted she was. Now I’ve met you, I can completely see why. You’re gorgeous, and kind of hilarious underneath all that high end shine, ain’t you?”

Miranda pulled a wry face. “Not so many people know that but I make myself laugh sometimes, at how idiotic I act. Andrea had the measure of me almost from the start though. All three of you Sachs women have got me figured, I guess. There’s no hiding from any of you.”

“It was good of you to tell us all the little apple story, and it sure melted Richard’s grumps right away. You’re a clever girl.”

“Well, it was true. I am learning to think I know who I am, and coming to terms with all my past has been a big part of that. If you find a chance before we leave on Sunday, do tell Andy what you told me. She’ll be very happy to hear it, I am so sure.”

“OK I will, dear. Now I can hear thundering feet coming down the stairs, and . . . Oh yes, isn’t it the wonder twins! Hiya, kids! Do you want to come out with me and feed the hens?”

Caroline and Cassidy had rushed into the room, already dressed in their warm jeans and flannel shirts outfits, ready for a day with the horses.

“Hi Mom! Hi Momma! Where’s Andy? She promised she’d give us some riding lessons this morning, and then we can go out trail riding this afternoon.”

“Steady on young’uns. There’ll be plenty of time yet. It’s barely light outside. You come with me and we’ll do the hens, and maybe talk to the horses, while your Mom and Andrea get dressed.”

“Andrea was fast asleep when I left her,” said Miranda. “I’ll take her up a coffee, and see how she is now. Have you two showered yet?”

The twins hesitated then shook their heads. “But, Mom, no point. We’re bound to get muddy and all sweated up with the horses. We can shower later, when we finish.”

“Come and kiss me then, grubby Bobbsies.” They fell into her arms and both kissed Miranda sweetly. 

“Now we have hens to feed,” said Caroline. “It’s so busy in the country. There’s so much to do!” And they trotted off behind Momma, who was clanking her bucket to tell the hens they were about to have a treat.

Miranda returned to the guest room carrying two coffee mugs. Andrea had moved from her hedgehog like ball and was stretching languidly. 

“Come back to bed please, darling,” she murmured. “I missed you.”

“The twins are about to barge in and pull you right out of bed. They are already dressed ready for their riding lesson. Momma has distracted them with feeding hens and collecting eggs, but that won’t hold them off for long.”

“Just five minutes. Please. I want to tell you how proud I am of you.”

Miranda rolled her eyes, but complied, setting down her coffee and sliding back between the sheets. She was aware that she still hadn’t washed, that her face was naked and her hair standing up on end. Andrea’s warm body drew her in though, irresistible, beguiling, just calling out to be made love to.

Andrea’s hands were inside her pyjama jacket in a moment, and she felt those mischievous fingers run under her breasts and reach across her back. 

“Oh,” her eyes closed and she let herself be touched. Andy pulled her down against her own shoulder and very gently began circling Miranda’s right breast. They could both feel how it tightened and shivered, and the nipple grew hard and aroused. Andrea slowly undid the pyjamas to give herself better access, and Miranda gave herself up to a few minutes of ecstasy as the tingle in her breasts started to circle downwards to her vagina, which found itself open and at the mercy of Andrea’s ever wandering finger tips. 

They teased and explored, and Miranda was helpless against the tiny movements which invaded deeper and deeper inside her. Within seconds of being entered, she was bucking against Andrea’s hand, and felt her clitoris almost explode against the heel of her thumb. She wanted to scream, but it didn’t seem good manners in the old wooden house, where sound travelled so easily, so she swallowed her joy, and just came quietly, politely, but magnificently nevertheless.

Andrea stopped moving her hand eventually, but just left it inside, cupping Miranda, owning her.

“My love,” murmured Miranda. It was all she could say, as her breathing settled and she gradually came down from the orgasm.

They lay in silence, both knowing they were on borrowed time, and any moment ten year old girls could fly into the room and destroy this moment of bliss.

“What were you saying about being so proud of me?” Miranda finally asked. She always liked compliments.

“All of yesterday. You were my Miranda, but you also let yourself be theirs. You shared yourself out. You were wonderful. Momma thinks you are the best thing since Eleanor Roosevelt, and for her that is the highest praise.”

“I love her too. I do love you more than her and your mother, but only just. You are all wonderful women.”

“I’m glad I’m still the favorite at least.”

“Oh yes, very much my favorite, my favorite person, my favorite lover, my girl . . . “

And then Miranda rolled over on top of Andrea, and began to demonstrate what she meant. 

“Miri, I should get up and shower. The twins . . . “

“Five minutes more, wasn’t that what you said? That’s all I need . . . “

“Miranda! Oh . . . “

“Sshh. Pianissimo, la mia bella cara ragazza.”

Miranda thought Italian was such a beautiful language. Why hadn’t she bothered to learn it properly before?

Somewhere in the house a clock chimed eight times. The morning was moving on, but in the guest room, for the next five minutes, time stood still.


	13. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four conversations and a riding lesson.

“No ifs or buts, hard hats will be worn by everyone who gets on a horse.” Andy looked adamant, and the twins jointly heaved a sigh of reluctant agreement. 

Cassidy tried one last argument. “Westerns on TV don’t have anyone in hard hats. It would look silly.”

“You’re not on TV. You are about to mount a horse you don’t know, and try western riding, which you’ve never done. Look, I’m wearing protective headgear because I know only too well what damage a fractured skull can do, and I love you too much to let you run unnecessary risks. You all wore riding hats in camp I’m sure, so what’s the problem? Now let’s get moving here.”

The twins put on the hard hats Richard had brought from the neighbours, when he had fetched the extra horses, and Andy had pulled her old hat out of a box of assorted riding paraphernalia.

“Good, now, I‘ll show you how to fetch your horse, tie them up safely, and put on their bridles and saddles.”

Her little pupils followed her into the barn, and Andy greeted the mount she’s been lent, a tall appaloosan mare, with the distinctive spots. She had a kind, sensible look to her, and would be a good school-mistress. As Andy demonstrated the finer points of tacking up, she stood like a rock. Like Patches, she was living in retirement, so being asked to do some work was a novelty for her.

After they watched Andy place the saddles on a folded saddle cloth, do up the girths and adjust the stirrup leathers to the length of her arm, the twins in turn then each tacked up their own pony. Caroline was surprised how heavy the western saddles were. She could hardly lift hers to begin with. 

“Yes, they’re heavy, but they distribute your weight well across the horse’s strongest part of its back. See how high the pommel is too, this means it will be very difficult for you to fall out under normal circumstances.

“Cowboys use them for securing lassoed cattle at the end of their ropes, but you can use it to hang on if you feel unsteady. I’d rather you did that than jag at the horse’s mouth. Western bits are harsher than Eastern snaffles, but that means they need to be treated very gently. Never yank back roughly on the reins, that’s another thing you see done so badly in so many old Westerns.”

“In camp, all the horses were tacked up ready. We never got to see them undressed,” said Cassie.

“Horse-riding is only a quarter the fun, if you don’t get to care for your horse, and build up a bond with it. They are very sensitive animals, with different personalities. That’s why you have to treat them with respect, but also remember they have to respect you. 

“Each horse is different. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll ask you to swap horses, so you can see the difference between one and another. Now, are we all tacked up? Let’s take them out into the corral and let me see you mount.”

Miranda, while the riding lesson was progressing, had made herself scarce. She was sure her jitters at even watching it would spook the horses or make them bolt. This was as bad as watching your ten year old get on a motor-bike and start to rev it up. She decided to stay indoors and talk to Jenny, who greeted her warmly from her favorite couch. 

“So, how are you feeling this morning Miri, after the mammoth cook-athon yesterday? I was in such awe when I watched you sit down to dinner without a hair out of place and no hint of even building up a sweat. Please can you come every year and “do” Thanksgiving for me?”

“Don’t tease me. I know you have prepared this meal every year for decades, without any assistance. I have asked and received help from every single member of your family and even mine. Even little Bobby helped set the table.”

“Well, come and sit down with me. I am already a little frustrated about this plaster-cast on my leg. I’m going to see if Richard can drive me to and from work from Monday, so I can at least get to my desk and not let the paperwork get too out of hand.”

“Don’t underestimate the time it might take to get your energy back. I’m discovering there’s no shame in admitting one needs time off sometimes. And I was the biggest workaholic in New York.

“I still can’t believe the universe is turning without me, but yes, by some miracle, I saw the November edition of Runway appear on the news-stands, and it doesn’t look too bad. In fact I’ve brought you a copy. Did you know there’s an article by Andrea in here, about the day in the life of a New York female police officer?”

“No! She’s never said! Let me see! Why did she not shout this from the rafters?”

“Well, it’s complicated. When it first came out, in the middle of last month, she was hoping to show it to Richard when he came to New York to visit her, but then when he didn’t show up, she thought he maybe was feeling so negative about the whole New York Runway world, it was better just to leave it. Then of course, with all her memory loss problems, it took her a few weeks to fully recall actually writing it!

"But Jenny, you can tell if you just read that article, your daughter has real talent. I am determined she’ll have the opportunity to use it. I know she’s working on a semi-autobiographical novel at the moment, but she’s conflicted about how candid to be about her sexuality.”

“Yes, I see how in this society it is still so difficult not to be prejudiced. Look at me! I can see how blind I’ve been to the depth of Andy’s struggles, how insensitive. Even I, who know and love my daughter so well, originally thought it was somehow an option, a lifestyle preference. My mother has put me well and truly straight on that, well not straight, maybe, but you know what I mean!”

“Momma told me, what she told you. All her long life, not feeling she could be open about who she really is. At least I’ve come out before I’m fifty, thank God.”

“My mother is a force of nature. Of course she was gay, is gay. I see it so clearly now. I want her to share it with Andy, to show her how her coming out, has empowered her own grandma to do the same. But she is still shy.”

“I know, she said she hoped I might tell Andy, but I told her it was a conversation she had to have with Andy herself. I hope I did right.”

“You did, and I know she will. But you, my love, how’s it going with your childhood memories? I think your baked apple story was the first time you’ve spoken of anything before the age of thirty in public, wasn’t it? That must have been a huge breakthrough.”

“Yes, and it just came out. The story just told itself. Now I know the twins will want more tales from the orphanage! It appealed to their gossipy little souls as something very romantic.”

“Well, it’s true. I think you are a natural romantic, underneath all your wit and sarcasm. While Andy is writing her novel, why don’t you sit down and write up some of the stories from your youth, just for you? It’s very therapeutic. Many of the kids I counsel do the same as they get older, and it helps untangle quite a few knots. It helps them work out who they are.”

Miranda sat back on the sofa, and thought about this. Maybe she should follow Jenny’s advice. Perhaps writing down in longhand some of her childhood traumas would release them from the inner recesses of her brain, and put all the subconscious fears and fury to sleep once and for all.

But she had one more conversation she wanted to have with Richard, not an easy one, but something only she could do. She asked Jenny where he was. 

“Down at the end of the orchard, sticking tar-paper circles round his apple-trees to stop the bugs.”

“I’ll get my coat and take a walk down there then,” and Miranda jumped up. Jenny followed her on her crutches as far as the kitchen, where the turkey carcass sat on the counter looking forlorn. 

“I’m going to sit on the high stool, and make some soup for lunch. It’ll be really quiet with only seven of us!”

Miranda left the house, muffled up in her soft sheepskin coat, and warm gloves and walked past the girls having their riding lesson in the corral next to the big barn. They seemed to be bouncing around very happily in a large circle, while Andy on her horse directed them from the centre. No-one had died yet, at least. 

The Orchard, with more than fifty apple trees of various ages and height, stretched off as far as a small wood, and Miranda slipped through the gate and into the long lines of trees, which had now lost virtually all of their summer leaves. The two black-haired gun-dogs were playing together on the frozen grass and indicated where she could find Richard, with glue-pots of some sort and a long roll of tape, which he was sticking to the trees about half way down the orchard. 

He nodded to her, and smiled. “Hi there. I should have done this a month ago. But better now than never.”

Miranda thrust her hands into her pockets, and said. “I agree. Richard, I wanted to talk to you about something. I know Andrea won’t say anything to you, but have you realised how upset she’s been, about you not coming to visit her after her mugging in the park? She was so certain you would come, eventually, but you didn’t. I think it would make things better if you talked to her about it, and maybe apologised. She could have died, you know. We were all so worried to begin with.”

Richard carried on gluing his sticky tapes and wrapping them round the trees. 

Then he said, “I know. Seeing her even now, with all her hair taken off, it cuts me up. I should have been there. Damn it, I should have been there from day one. But I was so far up my own fundament. My prejudice against you was just so strong, it blacked out every decent feeling. It wasn’t the gay thing. It was more the age-gap, the power thing I thought you had over her. She really did lay some good stories on us when she came home in March, and then before, when you hauled her out of our dinner together, and we missed the show I wanted to take her to, I thought you must be the Devil. It was the greatest shock to me when she said she actually wanted to marry you!”

“I understand. I really do. I might have felt the same in your shoes. But Andy is different, she is so loving, and doesn’t understand. All I can say is that I love her more than life itself, and if you ever come to New York again, I will buy the theatre tickets for you both myself, and promise faithfully not to spoil your evening. I really do hope she will marry me, and that you will be at the wedding and give us your blessing.”

“I’m a stubborn fool, who hates to admit he’s wrong. But I’m going to confine that to the court-room in future. I like you, Miranda, I really do, and I see why all the women in my family seem smitten. I’m sorry. I will go and apologise to Andy, properly. I promise. Now, while you’re standing there, can you help me? If you cut the tape off at the right length, then we’ll get this job done much more quickly.”

So Miranda took off her gloves and helped him put the tar glue on his trees, a job she had never thought of before, but one which was strangely satisfying, like many outdoor chores tend to be. By the time, Momma rang the big bell by the back-door to signify lunch was ready, they were the best of friends, and the conversation completed.

As they passed the barn door, Richard hived off to help Andy untack the horses and settle them down. Miranda knew he’d be asking Andrea to forgive him, and judging by her face when she came in to the house, it had been well received. They were arm in arm, and sharing a joke.


	14. 260 billion stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A winter ride, and a revelation.

Lunch was a noisy affair, mainly because the twins were so hyped-up by their riding lesson, that they could hardly stop talking about it. This was especially because by the end of the session, they had actually been shown how to break from a jog into a slow canter or lope, a pace with which the western horses were most comfortable and could keep going for hours if necessary. 

Neither girl had actually fallen off, which was Miranda’s bottom line for controlling her anxiety levels, and they were keen to carry on immediately they had consumed their soup and hot rolls. Andy had other ideas. 

“Look my darlings, all these horses are old, and out of condition. They haven’t had riders on their backs for months, maybe years. I want them to have at least two hours’ rest with their hay-nets before we take them out again. Meet me at the barn at 3pm, and I’ll take you on a trail-ride then, up through the woods. We can go out again tomorrow as well.”

“I think a quiet hour on your beds with a book wouldn’t be a bad idea,” said Miranda. “You’ll stiffen up too, if you ride too much. How about a little siesta?”

The twins didn’t argue, and she took them up to their room. It was warm and cosy, and she soon noticed their eyes begin to droop. They lay on the beds, and Miranda drew the drapes across their window half way. By the time she turned back, they were already asleep. She tiptoed out, and closed the door.

Downstairs, Jenny turned the television on, and Momma and Andy cleared up the lunch pots. Andy was sad to see how her grandmother had slowed up somewhat from the extremely energetic old soul she had been nine months earlier.

“Darned arthritis,” Momma explained. “I’m going to have to have a hip replacement sometime next year. I just keep putting it off. Never could stand hospitals, but Ed says he knows a good surgeon.”

“If you know when you’re going in, I’ll come home and be here for you. I want you at my wedding, fit and well. We’re hoping it can be in May.”

Momma looked sideways at her favorite grandchild and decided to jump off the high board. 

“I wanted to marry a woman, you know, before your grandpa Diamond rode into town.”

“Whaat?”

“Yep, if things had been then like they are now, I’d have married a pretty little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, and none of you would have been born. So good things did come out of bad. Though Andy, it did hurt at the time, and it’s hurt ever since, losing my first Jenny.”

Andy found the words somehow to encourage her to explain, and Momma, while they dried the dishes, told her the whole story. She had always loved girls, watched girls, enjoyed the way they moved and looked, and how soft their skin was. She’d always known she was, well, what everyone understood today as a gay woman. But there was just a silence about it in the twenties and thirties. Her parents said nothing, and never commented apart from accepting her as a tom-boy.

But Jenny, the preacher’s daughter in their small country community, had been special. She had loved her back, unreservedly, and they had had three glorious years together between the age of sixteen and nineteen. No one had ever known what they had done together up in the corn fields, and between the acres of the barley.

Then the Second World War had started, and Jenny’s father had been re-assigned to a large city church in Cleveland, and Jenny had to move with her parents. She eventually joined up as an army nurse. They’d tried to keep in touch, but travel was restricted, and then Jenny had been part of a contingent of nurses sent out to the Far East. In 1945, having heard nothing for two years, Momma had found a way to trace the Minister and his wife, who told her their lovely daughter had died in an attack on a US base in the Philippines, back in early 1944.

“I knew from the start that she’d died, felt it in my bones, but when they told me, I almost died myself. Then I knew I had to carry on, and create something good out of all that hatred and warfare, something in her memory. So I married Ted and had your Mom, the most beautiful baby this side of the Mississippi.”

“Oh Momma, I want to cry! And to think that all these years you’ve kept that grief to yourself.”

“Well, your Grandpa Diamond knew. I told him from the beginning, and he understood. He felt an outsider, too, on account of being half Indian. After a year or two, we knew it wouldn’t work out between us long term, so we got divorced and he moved west, married a girl in South Dakota, and raised a new family. I stayed here with Jenny.”

“Wow, so our family history is almost as complicated as Miranda’s! Who would have known? Can I tell her your story? She seems very fond of you already.”

Momma confessed. “I’ve already told her, yesterday, while we were prepping the vegetables. I needed to tell her that because of her, I had felt brave enough to tell your Mom why she was raised in a one-parent family. And now you know. You have a proud heritage of being queer, pipsqueak. So you can hold your head up high in the next Pride parade you decide to go to. Your Miranda told me I should share the story with you, so you don’t have to worry you’re not gay enough, or something. You have it in your DNA!”

Andrea held her grandmother close. “I love you Momma. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“Aw, go on. Now if you want to take those children out on the horses again today, you’d better go and wake them. The nights draw in so early this time of year.”

So Andrea did just that. 

Through the afternoon mists the three riders took their horses down the track behind the barn, alongside Grandpa’s orchard, and then up the gentle slope into the woods. The girls concentrated on sitting just as Andy had shown them, with longer stirrups than would be usual for eastern style riding, and very loose reins. The horses followed in file, with steam rising from their warm bodies, and the crunch of the dry leaves under their feet. Andy led the way, and half a mile from home, nudged them all into a very slow canter, what the westerners called a lope. She was proud of the girls, who rode sensitively and very quietly. By the time they were descending the hill once more, the stars had come out, and Cassidy gazed up at the heavens in amazement.

“Andy, Caro, look, it’s magic! There are thousands and thousands of stars! Why aren’t there stars like this in New York?”

“There are, darling, but the city lights block them out. You can see the lights of Cincinnati city over there in the distance, but otherwise, out here you can see the heavens much more clearly. This is what all the ancient people must have seen every night. You can understand why they were so interested in astronomy.”

“I never knew it was like this. How many stars?”

“In our galaxy, the Milky Way, maybe 260 billion. And they now think there may be as many galaxies, over 250 billion.”

Cassidy was completely silenced, and remained silent for the rest of the ride. She had had a revelation of the wonder of Space, on that first ride with Patches, up a small hill in Ohio which was to change the future course of her life. 

When they returned to the light and warmth of the red barn, she untacked him, and put his saddle on the tree where Andy showed her. Then she quietly and gently brushed him down, talking to him all the time, but she never shared their conversation. It was just for her, and him, to know. 

Some conversations are not meant to be overheard, but Patches was an old pony, who had watched the stars most nights of his long life, and it had given him much horse wisdom. He nuzzled against Cassie’s chest, as she brushed out his mane, and helped her deal with the enormity of her feelings. Like another little girl’s, fifteen or so years ago, he became her special friend. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Pumpkin! How have you been? We’ve missed you so much!” On Sunday evening, the Priestly family fell through their front door in Upper East Manhattan, to find their very small house cat sitting patiently on the stairs waiting for them. Roy had fetched them all from JFK, and was now unloading suitcases and bringing them into the hall. 

Miranda stretched her slightly stiff neck after the flight, and breathed a sigh of relief. They were all home safely, and no-one had wrecked the house or stolen the art collection. 

Cara came out of the kitchen to greet them all. A very pleasant smell of something hot and spicy followed her. 

“You’ve cooked for us! Enchiladas?”

“Yes. How are you all? How did you get on? The kitten and I have had a great time, house-sitting. And he hasn’t messed up once.”

Miranda smiled. So her pep-talk had worked. She looked around at Andrea, her twins, Roy, Cara and Pumpkin, and breathed in and then out with contentment.

“We had a wonderful time. All’s well. No-one fell off their pony, and Thanksgiving went amazingly smoothly. Your timings were spot on.”

“Well dinner’s ready for you, whenever you are. Oh, I mustn’t forget. Sophia called to ask if she can postpone the next Italian lesson. She’s been given three more hours’ teaching a week at the local college, and is saving up to take her kids to Italy next summer. She says it’s all down to you, whatever that means. She’ll call tomorrow to reschedule.”

Miranda smiled yet again. It was becoming a worrying trend. 

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll make a note. Now Bobbsies, let’s get organised. You have school again tomorrow, don’t forget!”

“As if we could!” Caroline sighed dramatically. “But wasn’t it the best Thanksgiving ever?”

“Sure was,” agreed Andrea, hugging her lover and kissing her flagrantly in front of Cara and Roy. 

Cassidy said nothing though. She just picked up Pumpkin and went across to the Kitchen patio glass doors. 

“You can’t see them,” she said to him, “But out there, up in the sky, there are 260 billion stars. Who do you think you are, little Pumps, underneath all of that?”

Pumps couldn’t put into a meow his answer to that, but he could feel his heart beating against Cassie’s hand, which still smelt faintly of horse, and hay, and he started to purr. It was so good to have them all home again. It had been a long weekend without them. 

THE END.


End file.
